It didn't work
by Harold Saxon
Summary: Jack was asked by the Doctor to turn the Master into a human and to hide his new identity from him. Jack accidentally maroons the Master as the human slave Marcellus in ancient Rome where he is sold into a brothel. COMPLETED
1. Chapter 1

**The Doctor's problem  
**

1.

It was apparent from the Doctor's face that the last trip with his new reluctant companion did not exactly go as planned. He looked tired and pale, with dark half moon rims underneath his eyes. His hair spiked up in all different directions as he ran through it nervously with his fingers. The first thing Jack did was to ask him to sit down, and offer him a cup of tea to calm his nerves. When he handed the mug of tea over to the Doctor, the captain noticed that he had a slight tremor in his hands.

"Is everything all right?" Jack asked with great concern.

They were sitting at the captain's desk in the Torchwood laboratories. The rest of the gang had already gone home and most of the lights had been shut down a while ago. The sudden appearance of the Doctor right behind him in the dark when he was finishing his report on the last alien incidence hadn't exactly done any good for his nerves either. Jack sipped patiently from his tea as he waited for the Timelord to compose himself.

"It didn't work." The Doctor uttered in a flat voice.

"What didn't work?" Jack asked.

The Doctor sighed, and pulled another couple of spikes in his hair.

"Traveling with him. It didn't work at all. Frankly, he is driving me up the wall."

Jack wasn't surprised, but kept a stern face and nodded understandably.

"I haven't slept for days. Mind you, it's not like I need a lot of sleep, one hour a day and I should be fit as a fiddle. But I never get to that hour of rest because he keeps stirring things up. If I take an eye off him for just a second he is already up to wreck havoc. It's like living with a hyperactive narcistic little monster with the destructive tendency of large defiant canine. One that constantly wants to kill me that is."

"Didn't you say that you would take him somewhere safe and far away till he is rehabilitated?"

"I took him to satellite 47." The Doctor muttered, taking a careful sip from his comforting hot tea. "It's an abandoned seeding pod rotating around a barren planet in solar system 23B, which is basically at the edge of the bloody universe. It's an empty space-vessel filled with rusty junk and defunk control-systems. He shouldn't be able do any harm there. But then he sneaked into the abandoned laboratory behind my back and started tingling with the remaining DNA samples that were left in the freezer. He built an entire army of generic aliens in one afternoon and sent them after me. Mind you, the quality of the DNA was rather bad and these creatures were relatively harmless. I mean, they couldn't really hurt me since they had like 11 legs and no heads on their shoulders to tell them where to go, but still. It's the idea that he actually _did _this." The Doctor looked at the captain with an expression which could only be described as childlike bafflement on his face as if he just couldn't understand why on earth the Master would want to get rid of him.

"The satellite wasn't such a good option then." Said Jack, smart enough to not give the Doctor his opinion of the matter. Not yet at least.

"Nope. So I decided to take him to the planet of the Dwahjans. Do you know the Dwahjans? Friendly little creatures really, strictly vegetarians. They won't harm a fly. In case you wondered, they look a bit like those Ewok puppets from that Star Wars movie. I mean, how cute can a race of alien get, right?" The Doctor asked, sighing desperately.

"What did he do to them?" Jack asked, but already guessing in which direction this conversation was going.

"He thought them how to make fire!" The Doctor yelled, slapping his forehead with the flat of his hand. "How evil is that! Of course it didn't take long before all of Dwahjans were turned into bloodthirsty carnivores. They just couldn't resist the cooking smells of a thick slice of juicy steak!"

"Oh." The captain uttered, he was actually expecting something more spectacular than this.

"It was absolutely dreadful! After we left, no cattle was safe anymore on that planet!"

"They had cows there?"

"And then there was this incidence onboard the TARDIS." The Doctor rambling on, ignoring the puzzled look on the captain's face. "The Master was locked up in his room but somehow still managed to escape while I was taking a short nap. He got hold of my password and recalibrated the navigation system. When I woke up, it was 1245 and we had landed in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico, but I was unaware of that because I had the TARDIS set on going to the green pastures of New New Zealand in 5421. When I opened the door, the gulf of ocean water that swamped in knocked me unconscious and washed me all the way back into my bedroom. It took me ages to unplug the drainage systems."

"Sounds like he's incontrollable." Jack opted, and shook his head.

The Doctor sighed deeply and leaned back in his chair. "It's not like he is always like this. Well, actually, he is." He realized reluctantly. "But sometimes he can be reasonable. Mostly late at night, when we are both dead tired of fighting each other constantly, and we are sitting quietly together around the core of the TARDIS. He then might say something that actually makes sense. Utter a sentence or two that is not drenched in sarcasm or greased up with deception."

The Doctor had a far off expression on his face, lost for a moment in his thoughts. The paleness of his complexion and his deep sunken eyes made him look frail, just like the old shrunken creature that the Master had turned him into onboard of he Valliant. The very recollection of the Doctor trapped in that state made the captain's stomach turn and fired up his resentment towards the Master.

"You can't go on like this." Jack finally said. "I hate to tell you this Doctor, but I don't think that the Master is redeemable in anyway. The guy is just rotten to the core. If you continue to travel with him and treat him as your equal and not your prisoner, he will just continue to take advantage of your good nature and think of ways to escape. Or worse, get even with you for kicking his butt. You can't trust that guy."

The Doctor remained silent for a while, considering the advice of his dear friend. He didn't believe that Master could not be redeemed, but he was very tired, and for the moment, very much out of ideas.

"I know I can't trust him. I know that. But I'm the only one who can help. He has no one else." The Doctor pleaded.

"Could you perhaps make him human again?" Jack suddenly proposed, remembering professor Jana. The guy was a cuddly panda bear compared to the Master. "You could use the TARDIS to rewrite his biology and lock away his repellant personality in that fob-watch device." And then get rid of it once and for all by catapulting it into a black hole, Jack thought.

The Doctor rubbed his eyes and shook his head tiredly. "I have thought of that, but I won't be able to control the TARDIS when it's recreating his personality. The process is completely randomized."

"So he can turn out just as much as a bastard as he is now?" Jack laughed. "Okay, what's the risk? He will become at least human and therefore less dangerous. That's some sort of a solution right?"

"Ehm, yes. But that's not the point." The Doctor mumbled, rubbing his temples as he tried to soothe an upcoming headache. "If I turn him into a human I won't be able to stop myself from interfering with his life. It won't be fair to his human form if I keep crashing into his existence while I could turn his world upside down in an instance or worse, expose him to dangerous aliens who are keen to capture a defenseless Timelord." The Doctor paused for a moment as an idea sprang to his mind. "But if somehow, his new identity could be kept secret…"

Jack leaned forward in anticipation as he observed the sudden alertness in the Timelord's eyes.

"Yes!" The Doctor snapped out of his train of thoughts and jumped up from his chair like a puppet on a coiled spring. "If I could just build a new bioconverter module, based on the one connected to the TARDIS. The new one is of course relatively simple compared to the original because it only needs to convert the Master's biology into a human, no need for extra options there. But if I connect a programming module to the new design, we must be able to control the personality forming process. Ha! We could make him as likable and considered as a bloody saint! The only thing is…" The Doctor suddenly halted, and frowned.

"What?!" Exclaimed the captain impatiently. "It seems like a brilliant plan! What Doctor? What's wrong with it?"

"I cannot be the one who creates his human form." The Timelord muttered, and scratched behind his ear. "If I do that I would exactly know where and when he is, and that was the whole problem with turning him into a human to begin with."

Jack thought about it for a while, then opted with a boyish grin; "And what if you let me rewrite his personality? I could conceal his identity and hide the fob-watch from you." It won't be lying at the back of a drawer, that's for sure, the captain thought with a hint of sarcasm.

The Doctor didn't particularly like the idea of leaving someone else in charge of his fellow Timelord. He knew the Master, he was a great danger not only to the people around him but also to himself. He could remember vividly how Mrs. Jones and even Lucy Saxon had tried to kill him after he was captured. The hate that burned in his victim's eyes blinded them from any human compassion what they might have spared for their tormentor. If it wasn't for Jack's and the Doctor's interference, the Master would have been shot, and found his early demise on the Valiant. However, if the Doctor was to ever trust another man with this difficult and demanding task, it would be the captain.

"Suppose I was going to allow you to do that…" The Doctor said, hesitantly.

"Look, I know what you are thinking. I promise that I'm going to keep him safe, and make sure that he lives a good and happy life."

"You don't feel any resentment towards him?"

Jacked shrugged. "Not as such that I would act it out on an innocent civilian, which he will become as soon as he is turned into a human. Besides, I'm mainly doing this because I want to help out a good friend."

The Doctor nodded as he was desperate to convince himself of the captain's benign intentions. Under any normal circumstance, the Doctor would have thought twice before accepting Jack's offer. However, 60 days of constant sleep deprivation and a stressful life with an argumentative evil Timelord had taken a serious toll on his good judgment.

"All right, if you think that you are up to the job. I get started on the bioconverter device immediately."

2.

After two days of intensive tinkering in a secured laboratory in the cellar of the Torchwood institute, the Doctor had finished the machine and vanished without saying a proper goodbye, leaving only a small note behind. The brand-new bioconverter was sitting on the captain's desk, sending out a low electronic buzz. A laptop and a crash-helmet were connected to it with bundles of colorful wires. The Master's fob-watch stuck out of the side of the helmet, secured with some tape. Jack first observed the whole shaky design with some amazement, but then decided that the Doctor would probably know what he was doing. Besides, he reasoned, the worst thing that could happen is that the Master would get his brains fried. There was no lost in that.

He picked up the Doctor's note from his desk, and read it in silence.

Dear Captain

I managed to get the bioconverter up and running. When you start up the laptop, a tutorial will run automatically to teach you how to operate this device. You are probably wondering where the Master is. I left him bound to a chair in the room next door. In case you are concerned that simple ropes won't hold him down; he is completely drugged out. I gave him a shot of tranquilizer before I left. He won't wake up before noon, which should give you plenty of time to get ready.

I'm going away for a while. Actually, I'm going to bed and sleep for at least a week. Please, remember what you have promised me. Keep him safe. In contrary to your belief, I have not given up on him yet and am still determined to save him from himself. I will return as soon as I have figured out how.

I wish you the best of luck and all the wisdom that suits a man of your age captain!

D

NB: I'm sorry, but I think I might have finished your tape-roll.

3.

"So now what, you're babysitting me or are you playing my super nanny?" The Master sneered, smiling cynically. He was still bound to the chair, wearing the bioconverter helmet with the plastic straps secured under his chin. It was a little too big and the rim of the helmet half-covered the Master's eyes.

Jack ignored his prisoner's remarks, and continued monitoring the energy bars that flashed across the screen. He needed more power to start up the complicated process.

"Hey, can you get this stinking ashtray off my head? It's starting to smoke my brains."

"Can't wait for that to happen." The captain muttered under his breath while typing in the correct parameters.

"He really is a complete idiot, isn't he? He is supposed to be a Timelord and a genius, but he can't even build a simple device like a bioconverter that works properly. Look at this thing, it's held together with tape and I can see pieces of chewed up gum stuck inside this helmet for insulation. I'm telling you right now, this is never going to work. You're wasting your time with this."

"The Doctor warned me that you were going to say that." Jack said, grinning at the Master gleefully. "Afraid to return to the human race, are you? Don't you worry. I promised the Doctor to take care of you. I thought that I might turn you into a 15th century dung shover or a 11th century inbred French farmer with the IQ of a glass of rainwater. How about that?"

The Master shot a dangerous look at the captain, anger boiling underneath the apparent calm surface.

"Where did the good Doctor go anyway?" Purposefully ignoring the captain's threat. His voice was like silk drenched in honey. "Is our hero in hiding, leaving a talking monkey in charge of the devious villain? Couldn't he deal with the stress anymore? I would say that it's a bit early for a burn out, we haven't even finished our honeymoon period yet." He smiled deliciously, taunting the captain with his reserved confidence. "Personally, I found the whole thing rather disappointing, the guy is a complete bore. I had more fun getting drunk and talking to a piece of wooden furniture."

"You should be grateful for the Doctor. If it wasn't for him, you were already dead." Jack snapped.

"Do you want me dead then?" The Master grinned, a sly look in his eyes.

"Everybody onboard of the Valiant who can remember a single thing about that year wants you dead." Jack said, coldly. He was finishing the last calibrations for bioconvertion procedure. It was not a minute too early because the bastard was really starting to get on his nerves.

"Oh my, such mindless hatred and hurtful prejudice against a defenseless prisoner my dear captain. Didn't you enjoy the private quarters that I have granted you during your stay?" The Master mocked, reminding the captain how he was chained up in the engine room like a dog. "I know that at least I had fun! Every day I had great fun, target practicing on you. The way that my mind could come up with new and exciting ideas to kill you off, really I never thought of myself as a very creative man but you certainly tickled my muse, captain Jack."

Jack tried hard to block out the Master's scorn and focus on the last numbers that he had to feed into the program. He felt the veins in his neck pulse.

"Remember that time when I cut out your liver and fed it to that mutt that I got Lucy for her birthday? You looked so surprised when I slipped that knife in your fat gut, ripped it open and yanked the whole thing out, as if you couldn't believe that I was doing that to you. And that mutt actually took a bite or two out of the bloody mess before it made him sick. Have you seen that, or were you already dead by that time? I really liked that dog, I still can't figure out why Lucy wanted to rid of it after that he barfed out your liver."

"Shut up." Jack said angrily, staring at the monitor in front of him without typing another word or coordinate any longer.

"Oh, oh!" He actually raised himself up from the chair a little as if he was a schoolboy eager to provide the answer to his teacher. "And remember that time when I took that wrinkled old fart for a test-drive in his new wheelchair? Such fun we used to have, the Doctor and I." The Master closed his eyes as if remembering something sweet. "I pushed him on and off the stairs for hours, and every time he managed to find some new bones to break. Old people and osteoporosis hey." He opened his eyes and stared back directly into Jack's. "If you can't laugh about that you must really be a sour prick."

"Shut the bloody hell up!" Yelled the captain, anger boiling in his guts.

"A sour, miserable little prick. Like you, I guess." The Master said, spitting out the words while raising his head in defiance.

Something snapped inside Jack's mind. He rushed over to the Master with the sudden ferocity of a prowling predator and grabbed him by the shoulders. His hands were clutched together into hard fists and he raised one of them, ready to strike.

The Master grinned at him with a mad and amused look in his eyes.

"Oh yes! Captain Jack, go satisfy that anger. Finally!" He laughed triumphantly. To Jack it sounded like the insane laughter of a desolate mind. "You hear it too, captain, don't you? The rise of drums, that violent mindless hate that pulses and blinds and consumes and overtakes everything, sanity and soul."

He punched him in his face, and the Master pitched sideward onto the floor. He then clutched a couple of loops that ran over the Master's chest and lifted him half up from the ground. To Jack's dismay he still kept laughing insanely at him while a trickle of blood ran out of his nose. Bending down over him, the captain's face was only inches away from the Master's.

"No I don't hear those drums." Jack whispered. "And I don't think that the Doctor was right about you. You are scum, and definitely don't deserve a second chance."

There was a flash of anxiety in the Master's eyes, but only for a short moment. It was gone in a blink of an eye. What remained was that sarcastic, sheepish smile.

"You are going to kill me, aren't you?" He said without emotions.

Jack shook is head slowly.

"Worse." He answered, unaware of the wolfish grin that appeared on his face, and struck him on the side of his head, propelling the Master into unconsciousness.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Jack's solution**

**  
**

4.

Jack sat at his desk and stared at the blinking cursor on the text file left open on the laptop monitor of the bioconverter. The file in front of him consisted out of a little more than 2000 words, and told the story of one Marcellus Quintus, a Roman farmer who lived during the reign of emperor Claudius. Marcellus, so he had invented, was a simple but honest man, who worked hard on the small patch of farmland that he had inherited from his late father. He was married to a lovely woman named Lucinda Sejanus, and together they had a sweet little girl, who he had named Octavia, after his dear mother. Marcellus lived a happy life. His wife and daughter loved him dearly, and his land was fertile enough to provide more than enough food to feed him and his family. He remained as healthy as a horse for most of his life, and he lived to a satisfactory old age together with Lucinda, while Octavia married young and granted him many grandchildren.

Jack reread the entire document. His fingers lingered over the delete button every time he came across such words like "happy", or "lovingly", or "dear". He came to the end of the text, went back to the beginning and started rereading the whole thing again. He deleted "Marcellus", and replaced it with "Bacillus" and changed the man's profession from farmer to sewage drainer, but then doubted whether there was actually something like a sewage drainer even in ancient Roman times, and therefore changed it again in horseshit collector, which made him giggle.

He then changed "lovely woman" into "a woman built like a Russian tank but twice as ugly" and "fertile land" in "vermin infested stinking swamp land with no chance of raising so much as a crop of turnips". He didn't stop with this kind of small foolishness till he rewrote Marcellus/Bacillus daughter's fate, and let poor Octavia die of starvation while her desperate and heartbroken father tried to feed his ailing child a watery soup made out of his meager harvest of rotten turnips.

"Hang on there, that isn't right." He mumbled, and stopped typing in the middle of a sentence. He checked the corrections that he had made, and felt incredibly stupid when he realized how wrong he had been. He could of course rewrite the Master's personality and make him less of a complete and utter bastard, but he couldn't determine the way his life was going to turn out. The only part of the Master's life that his over-diligent writing could have ever any effect on, was his past that would only exist in his fake memories.

Jack continued reading and went over the part that he had rewritten about poor Octavia. The ruthlessness and sheer malice of that piece immediately made him feel bad about himself. How could he be so indifferent about the fate of the young child? If he wanted to punish the Master for his wicked deeds, he shouldn't have done so by targeting his made-up family. The idea that it wouldn't have worked anyway offered only limited comfort.

Jack marked the entire document, and then deleted it with one push on the button.

But it wasn't so that he intended to spare the Master.

His resentment towards the renegade Timelord was still kindled by their very last conflict. His anger blinded him from his morals and reason, and was dangerous as he hardly wanted to admit this to himself. A plan was slowly taking shape in his mind. It was a cruel and vicious plan that should have immediately rung off alarm bells for the good captain's otherwise immaculate conscience. But now that it could be continuously fueled by his hostility while it remained hidden from his rational judgment, the charm of this dubious scheme was luring him into an action that he would severely regret.

He moved the cursor back to the top of the now blank page, and started _-once again-_ to retell the story of the Marcellus.

5.

The house was located in a narrow backstreet that diverted from a busy crossroad. It was a small, two-story red brick building, with only two narrow windows but two entrances that were separated from the street by sun-bleached drapes of an indistinguishable color. Two skimpily dressed young women with brightly painted faces sat on the high sidewalk in front of the house. When Marcellus and his master approached, they quickly pulled down their shoulder straps and revealed their pink breasts to the two men.

"Hey boys, do you fancy a girl for tonight?" One of the young women with raven black hair asked, fluttering her coal rimmed eyes. "I could ride you like an Amazon queen till the morning dawn if you fancy."

Marcellus turned away from the girl and looked down at his bare feet, visibly not at ease with the way she was flaunting herself at him. His master however, didn't seem to be afflicted at all. He gave the girls a generous smile.

"Not today doll-face, but maybe another time." He winked playfully, causing the young girl to blush and giggle. "I'm here to see your patron. Is he in?"

The raven haired girl quickly composed herself. The mirth completely vanished from her young face. "Oh, you're looking for Simon?" She uttered. "He's at the back."

"He's probably busy counting our hard-earned Denaries." The other blond haired girl added resentfully.

"Stop talking like that Livia. He might hear us." The other girl whispered.

Her friend shrugged her pretty shoulders in reply. "It's the truth. That's all he does all day while we are breaking our backs out here. He is a greedy little Sicilian monster. I swear if it wasn't for that Moor he hires to guard him I would have clawed his eyes out by now. She spat on the ground in disgust, just in front of the captain's boots. "May the Goddess Poena give him a ghastly disease on his genitals."

Jack tried to pay no attention to the blond girl's ravings. "Ehm, at he back you said? Thanks girls. Perhaps I'll see you both later." He gave the other girl a friendly nod.

"Whatever." Livia rolled her doe-like eyes as her dear friend seemed to be sincerely charmed by the weirdly dressed stranger. "And what about you then?" She asked, addressing Marcellus. "Do you fancy a trip to the lush fields of Venus between my heavenly thighs?"

"Livia! That's obscene!" The dark-haired girl commented, and red blushes exploded on her cheeks.

"That's because we're whores, my dear Antonia. Besides, your chat-up lines are just as vulgar." she returned her attention to Marcellus.

"So what it's going to be? Do you even have any money on you or are you just too shy to imply?"

Marcellus shook his head. His mouth was very dry when he answered, and he had difficulty to form words with his tongue. It felt strangely as if he hadn't spoken in while, or that he wasn't used to speak all. "No, I…I ehm…I don't."

"No what?" The young blond girl said, with a smirk on her bloodred lips.

"I don't know if I have any money." His voice jumped up and down like a crazy leapfrog. Livia stared at him for a moment with disbelief, and then broke out in cruel laughter.

"Gods have mercy on you. Are you a retard or something?"

"I…" Marcellus wanted to sneer back at her, but couldn't think of anything nasty or clever to say. His mind seemed to be completely paralyzed.

"Marcellus!" His master's voice came barking from behind the drapes. "Get in here, now!"

"Yes dominus." Marcellus replied. It came to him like a reflex, and he was actually relieved to be able to comply his master's orders, rather than to stay and be ridiculed by the two frightening ladies.

"Oh! You're a slave!" Mocked Livia, clapping her delicate hands in delight. "No wonder that you're not used to think for yourself."

"Stop pestering the poor man, Livia." Antonia said, realizing what Marcellus's master might be here for. Marcellus rushed inside without even so much as dare to glance at the two, while Livia wiped the tears of mirth off her cheek and yelled after him; "See you around bum-boy! I hope your charming master gets a good price for you!"

6.

Marcellus entered a dark, windowless room that was poorly lit by the shimmering light of oil-lamps that hung low from the wooden ceiling. The scarce light revealed the cheap frescoes that adorned the walls, depicting various dubious sexual acts between men and women. A number of chambers came out into the room, separated from it by thin red curtains that hung in front of the cave-like entrances. There hung a sour animal smell in the air, of dried sweat and stale urine. Marcellus felt his hart sunk into his feet as he approached his master.

"You sent for me dominus." He asked politely, keeping his eyes down.

"Here it is." His master said, without so much as looking at him to acknowledge his presence. "See for yourself what you want to give for him."

Behind a wooden counter stood a short tanned man with a scrutinizing face. He examined Marcellus for a while, mumbling something under his breath.

"I'm not in real need for another slave. The business is going well as it is and I have barely enough space for all the other slaves." He frowned. "What is he anyway? A Greek?" He took Marcellus chin and turned his face. "No, definitely not. Those brows and that huge nose are far too protruding. Must be one of those Northern barbaric tribes. German perhaps?"

"He is from Britannia." Jack said. "I bought him in Londinium when I was stationed there."

"Which means that he is uneducated, unwashed, and probably not even housebroken." Muttered the merchant, keeping a firm grip on his purse that hung from a belt around his waist.

"Look, do you want it or not? There are more establishments around this buildingblock who would gladly do business with me." Jack said, getting irritated. He had exactly one hour to get rid of the Master, the time-transporter that he had scavenged from the Torchwood archive did not give him more time than this.

The merchant shook his head in dismay. "His face is too round. Although it does give him that young boyish look that the gents are fond of. But your price is far too high. If you want to sell him to me you need to lower it considerably."

"Fine, Give me 30 Danaries for him." Jack said firmly. Marcellus's face immediately went pale.

"Wait, I don't think that's a just price either." The Simon said, smelling that more money could be spared. "This slave is not trained. He could be a disaster for my clients and cost me a handful to keep him fed. You know how these barbarians are, unmannered savages with an appetite like a bloody horse."

"You get him for 20 Denaries if you shut up right now." Jack said, sneaking a peak at his watch.

"Are you in a hurry my friend?" Laughed the merchant, although he had no idea why the stranger kept staring at he device strapped around his wrist, he could easily sense that he didn't have the time to bargain. "Really, I cannot spend so much money on a purchase I don't take time for to consider wisely. It would be bad business."

"All right." Said jack, having enough of it. "Suit yourself. Marcellus, we are leaving." Jack turned around and pushed Marcellus in the direction of the door. "No point in wasting anymore time here. Let's see what he lupanare across the street is willing to pay for you."

"Dominus, please don't sell me to a brothel." Marcellus pleaded, but his voice was so frightened and small that nobody heard it.

"Hold on there, my dear fellow." Simon exclaimed as he realized that the bargain was slipping through his fingers. "I didn't say that I don't want to buy your slave from you." He gave the captain a sheepish grin.

Jack grinned back at him, holding onto Marcellus shoulder with a firm and rather painful grip. "25 Denaries then, just because you're such a nice guy."

The grin on Simon's face stifled and became one of stone. He snapped his fingers and yelled over his shoulder to the back entrance.

"Micranus, bring me my box." He turned back to the captain, his faked smile still chiseled on his lips. "25 Denaries, you agree? I trust you accept coins from before the imperial era as well."

The drapes parted and a large square-shouldered Moorish man entered. His skin was black as olives and shone with sweat and oil. He walked over to Simon, and presented him a small wooden box. The merchant took out of his purse a silver key, and slipped it into the lock. He opened the box, and took a handful of gold coins, which he started to count out for the captain on the counter. The Moor closed the chest and stepped back behind his master.

"Dominus." Marcellus voice trembled as he watched with a growing sense of horror how the pile of coins slowly amounted to the 25 Daneries that his master had requested. "Please. I beg you. Don't sell me to him."

Jack ignored his pleading, and looked the other way to avoid the Marcellus's face.

"I promise I will be a good slave. I will do anything you ask of me!"

"Anything?" Jack asked.

"Anything dominus! I will clean your stables. I will work in the boiling chamber day and night to heat your villa. You don't need to feed me well, I can live of the scraps from the kitchen and I can sleep on the floor. I will work on your lands, I will cook and clean for you. Anything dominus. Please."

"Right Marcellus." Jack said coldly. "If you could do just this little thing for me, I'll promise not to get rid of you."

"Yes dominus. Anything!" Marcellus looked up at him hopefully. "What is your wish?"

"Go back in time and undo those thing that you have done on the Valiant. If you can do that, I will forgive you, and let you return home with me. Can you do that?"

The spark of hope that had lived in Marcellus's eyes dimmed.

"I…" His mind searched for the information that the words of the captain concealed, but the bioconverter had done its job perfectly. From his life as a Timelord, only tattered fragments remained. The memories from his time as a tyrannical ruler and as the ruthless master of the Valiant were locked safely away in the deepest darkest parts of his mind.

"I don't understand exactly what you ask of me dominus. But I don't think I can do that." He finally stuttered.

"No, of course you don't." Said the captain. "You're not the Doctor. You're nothing. He turned back to the merchant. "Ready with counting all ready? I don't have the entire day to waste on this."

Simon handed the coins over to him. "25 Daneries exact. Count them if you like."

Jack slipped the coins into his pocked. "No need to." He faked a grin at marcellus and slapped him hard on his shoulder. "Have fun with your merchandise. I reckon he makes a wonderful prostitute. Don't try to spare him on my account."

"What makes you think that I would?" Simon smirked. He clapped his hands. "Micranus, bring him outside and get him marked, and this time, do it somewhere on his body where people can actually see it. I don't want the incidence with that runaway Greek slave to repeat itself."

"Dominus, please!" Marcellus yelled, tears prickling in his eyes. His distress made him reckless and he seized Jack's hand to hold onto it desperately as he begged his master to reconsider.

"Let go! You must come with me." Micranus grabbed Marcellus by his arms and locked them behind his back as he forced the struggling slave to get away from his former master.

Marcellus was dragged out into a narrow dirty alley. The Moor bound his hands and feet to a wooden beam that leaned against the entrance of the lupanare. Then he disappeared in a small building that stood at the back of the house. When he came back he carried with him a bucket filled to the rim with hot burning coals from the kitchen, and in his other hand he held a heavily blackened burning iron. He buried the iron deep into the coals and turned to Marcellus.

"Do you have other marks on your body?" He asked without any sympathy.

Marcellus shook his head slowly, but remained silent.

The Moor grab hold of his tunic, and with one hand, tore the cheap fabric to pieces. He yanked the rags off the slave's body, stripping him down to his naked flesh. He then tossed the ruined clothes on a muddy pile of rotting garbage in the corner of the alley. Noticing the growing anxiety on the slave's face, he grinned a little and said; "You don't need to wear clothes anymore. Our costumers like to feel and examine evertyhing before they make a purchase."

He glanced over Marcellus body from head to toe. "You are so pale. I've never seen someone that color. You look like a dead man." He pulled Marcellus head up by his hair. "But you're right. No marks. That is strange for a slave. Was your old master not afraid that you might run away?"

Marcellus was too frightened and to shocked to speak. He shivered like a leaf in the wind. From where he was tied up, he could look down the corridor back into the street. Amongst the passing crowd he caught sight of his former master, his long trench coat sweeping behind him as he hurried by.

"Dominus!" Marcellus yelled. "Dominus! Please don't leave me here!" He was half-aware that he was screaming like a madman, and people stopped and peeked into the narrow passageway to see what was going on. Jack halted his pace and turned around, and met the Master's pleading gaze for just a short moment.

Micranus did mind that there were people watching. "Guess he did not care, huh." He shrugged indifferently. "Still, you need to be branded. Simon ordered so." He picked up the iron. The end of it was shaped in the letter S that now glowed a bright smoldering orange.

Jack watched how the iron S was pressed on Marcellus' bare chest. It hissed wickedly as it made contact and burned away his skin. The slave struggled and convulsed against his restrains, arching his back in pain, while a horrible howl escaped from him. Jack turned away and walked on, while the others remained staring at the sadistic scene. He kept his eyes closed, and forced himself to remember the Master's crimes on the Valiant, rather than to listen to Marcellus pitiful cries for help.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**The Master's troubles **

7.

Jack was aware of the ground disappearing beneath his feet and his sense of orientation falter as the time transportation belt was activated. A sense of nausea washed over him, bringing up his stomach content and causing his sight to black out for a while. When he came by, he was back in his office at the Torchwood institute, bent double with his head between his knees. The Doctor was right, this is absolutely a bloody lousy way to time-travel, he thought while he took deep breaths to fight his queasiness.

"Oh shit!"

He felt under his shirt for the transporter. The thing made a terrible noise and was getting overheated. Jack quickly unbuckled the belt. He tossed the device away just before it started to burn the flesh off his fingers. It crashed into a table leg and spilled its electronic innards over the floor, after which several separated parts of he device combusted into flames. Jack grabbed hold of the fire extinguisher that had languished for years in a dusty corner behind the potted plants and sprayed the entire content on the flames.

After the small fire was put out, the captain looked down at the charcoaled remains. He went through the pieces, trying to identify at least the most vital parts, but as he picked them up and examined them one by one, he realized that it was of no use.

The time transporter was damaged beyond repair.

Another feeling of unease that was not far away from genuine nausea sank into him as he realized how this might affect his cruel little prank on the Master.

He never had intended to let the Timelord suffer in that Roman brothel for very long. A few days, one week max. But now he wasn't even sure that he could get him back safely to his own time.

"You stupid bloody git."

He swore with frustration, and wanted to kick himself for his mistake. Instead he punished the defunk time traveling device instead by booting a large piece of it straight into the now empty cylinder of the extinguisher.

8.

He tried to keep his eyes on the sand colored lizard that hid just below the vaulted ceiling of the dark chamber. The pinpoint eyes of the small creature shimmered like glass beads in the light of the oil-lamps. He pressed his stomach down on the sheepskin lying underneath that had become damp with his sweat, and craned his neck to follow the reptile as it climbed its way across the wall. Somehow, it distracted him from the heavy weight that crushed down on his back and legs, and the pain that cut through him like a blade as his client tried to force himself deeper into his abused body.

"Keep your head down boy." The large man on top of him grunted, sweat dripped down from his nose onto Marcellus neck. Red blotches already started to bloom all over the man's skin. Marcellus tried to turn around but his client grabbed the back of his head and pushed it forcefully down into the bundle of rags in front of him, burying his face deep into the dirty fabric.

"Don't struggle!" The overweight gentleman puffed, being almost out of breath. "You may wriggle around a bit, but don't you struggle!"

The forcefulness of the assault increased, and Marcellus, being cruelly denied his distraction or even air to breathe, pushed his chin down on his chest to create a small pocket of air between his body and the bed surface, while he bit down the rags to muffle his cries. His client grunted and continued to ride him like a beast, his fat pork belly hanging over the slave's back while his hairy crotch banged into his reddened buttocks. The fat fingers that dug greedily into him slipped over the slave's sweaty skin and left a trail of white marks.

Marcellus breathed heavily as the pain amounted into a fierce burning that tore through him like fire. The large man rocked in and out above him, and swore under his breath when his cock could not penetrate him any further.

"You're far too tight." The man wiped the sweat off his brow. "Dear Gods, this is more like exercise! It's bound to be bad for my heart." He let go of the slave's buttocks to place himself in a better position before he started all over again.

The man came half an hour later. He shot his load inside the battered slave, after which he simply collapsed on top of him in total exhaustion. Marcellus lay very still underneath the mount of gasping slippery flesh, his mind empty as he stared blankly ahead. He managed to free his right hand and hesitantly, felt between his legs. A sticky fluid trickled down his fingers.

The overweight client finally got up and started to get dressed. He stumbled across the small chamber, looking for his missing sandals with the all grace of a drunken elephant.

Marcellus didn't dare to move before the client was ready. He was too much ashamed to look anyone of them into the eyes. When the man finally left the chamber, he sat up on the stone bed, crawled into a corner and pulled his legs against his stomach. Outside, he could hear the obese man complain to his patron about his services in such a loud voice that it carried far out into the street. Someone was laughing pleasantly in the next-door chamber. Marcellus could not imagine that it was one of the slave girls, except for perhaps that devious serpent Livia. He took a long ragged breath and tried not to think of any possible punishments that Simon now might come up with for him for not serving his clients well. Closing his eyes, he forced his mind to leave this hellish place and go somewhere where Simon or Macrinus could not find him. But however hard he tried, he could not picture any other place than the lupanare and perhaps the few streets directly around the brothel. He knew that he had traveled with his old master from the far province of Britannia all the way down south to the Roman capital, but he had no memories of the fields and the forests that he must have passed, or a recollection of the sea and the rivers that he had crossed. It was as if he had not been anywhere else in his entire life but here. The very idea of it frightened him to death. If this was all what life was, he rather was not blessed with it any longer.

Marcellus was still trapped in his gloomy thoughts, when Micranus stuck his head through the curtains.

"Marcellus. Are you not ready yet? There is another client outside who wish to see you. Get yourself cleaned up. Quick!"

He obeyed him, and dipped the rags into the wooden pail filled with cool water that stood at the end of the bed. He washed off the dried stains on his thighs, and carefully wiped away the crusted blood between his buttocks. The clients didn't like their slaves to bleed before the deed, as they considered it as a sign of weak health. In a place like this where whores were dirt-cheap and hygiene was almost non-existing, most of them learned to be precautious.

Marcellus stepped outside where a tall, middle-aged man was standing before the counter. The Roman had a bad leg and leaned heavily on a wooden cane. First he was busy speaking to Simon, but quickly he turned to Marcellus when he entered.

"So this is the young chap you were talking about." The man spoke, and smiled pleasantly at him. "Why, isn't he short and totally adorable. All fresh-faced, looking very clever with those bright brown eyes." He came closer and pinched Marcellus playfully on his cheek. "Healthy rosy cheeks. It's a pity that he looks so sad though. Why are you so glum my young friend? I'm not going to hurt you or anything. You don't need to look so worried."

Simon gave Marcellus more than an encouraging nudge on the shoulder.

"Come Marcellus, give the good senator a smile."

Marcellus pulled the corner of his lips up into a sad imitation of a smile, looking up at the crazy gentleman with even more nervousness then before. So he was a senator then. That really didn't help to calm his nerves. If he mocked this one up he was probably going to be sent directly to the arena to by ripped apart by the hungry lions.

The senator was kind enough to be content with Marcellus pained grin. He paid Simon a handsome sum of money to rent the slave for the entire night. Simon thanked him gleefully, expressing so much of his gratitude that it looked like he was praising the mighty god of commerce Mercury himself.

Micranus led the two men up the staircase to the first floor where he unlocked the door to a tidy room with a small window. The senator ordered some wine, and after the Moor had brought it to the table, gave Micranus a small tip and asked him to leave.

Marcellus's could not keep his eyes from the light outside that shone through the dust caked window grits. Unlike the girls, he was not allowed to leave the lupanare. He hadn't seen the sun or a blue sky since the day that Micranus took him outside and burned his new master's initials into his flesh. The lazy sun that hung low in the late afternoon looked beautiful to him. He closed his eyes for a second to memorize how it looked, as he wished to remember it before he was forced to stay in his somber working quarters downstairs again.

The senator sat down in the only chair that was present in the room, resting his chin on the handle of his cane while silently observing Marcellus. He felt intrigued by the young man. Although the senator was wealthy and had in his long life, many lovers and prostitutes before, he never had seen someone quite like him. It was not because he looked foreign, although slaves from the north were less common than those from the Greek or far eastern territories. No, the senator thought that the young man looked kind of lost, as if this great Roman city was not the place where he belonged.

"You've never been up here before?" The senator asked in a kind voice.

Marcellus shook his head, staring at his dirty feet. He had little courage to lookup at the older man.

"You don't need to sit on the floor Marcellus. Go sit on the bed. That's far more comfortable."

Marcellus obeyed him. He climbed up the wooden bed and pulled his legs up against his belly while keeping his head down like an obedient dog.

"What do they teach you here? Can't you look me into the eyes? Honestly, I'm not a Medusa, you won't turn to stone if you did."

Marcellus glanced up hesitantly, but kept his submissive position with his knees digging into his chest.

"Well, that's at least one step in the right direction." The senator muttered. He took the carafe of wine from the table and poured some into a shabby looking cup. He limped over to the nervous looking slave and offered the drink to him.

Marcellus had been living in the lupanare for over a month now, and all of his clients so far, even if they were rich noblemen, had been acting completely indifferent to him. All they wanted was to get pleasure from his body that they had paid for, and most of them were particularly callous in their selfish attempts to satisfy their carnal lust. He was so used to be being beaten and treated badly all the time that this sudden act of kindness brought tears in his eyes.

"Oh come on dear boy. Don't be like that." The senator said, slightly baffled.

"It's some just wine. If you don't want it, I won't force you to have it."

The senator sat down next to Marcellus who was now sobbing uncontrollably.

"There, there, now." He said, as he patted the slave's shoulders. "No need for tears tonight."

"I'm sorry." Marcellus sobbed, and tried to stop his tears from welling up in his eyes. "I'm sorry sir. I'm wasting your time."

"Nobody is counting the grains of sand in the hourglass downstairs. I paid for the entire night. Take your time to compose yourself."

"I'm all right." Marcellus wiped away the snot coming out from his nose. "I'm ready." He bravely held his head up. "You can do with me whatever you wish sir."

The senator smiled kindly at him. "Tempting offer. What can you exactly do, my young Paris?"

"Ehm, the pictures downstairs. I've learned how to do all of that." Marcellus said, and realized that he said it with an almost perverted sense of pride. He suddenly wasn't sure that the senator had looked at the frescoes at all. "If you haven't seen them I could describe them for you. There's one right above the door of the front entrance. It shows a young man with another young man, and they kind of lie on top of each other with the man on the bottom wrapping his legs around the other man's chest-"

"No I haven't seen them." The senator said, shaking his head and waving his hand dismissively. "But you don't need to describe them to me. I'm not that young anymore as you can see and I've been visiting the lupanares for quite some time now. Not that I didn't appreciate it." The senator said hastily when he saw the reaction on Marcellus's face. "It was very kind of you."

"But what do you want me to do sir?" Marcellus asked, nervously. "For that amount of money you paid for me you could have had the entire brothel! I can't just sit here and do nothing."

"All I want is to have a good time tonight. And I want you to have a good time too. Tell me my dear Marcellus, have you ever made love before?"

"Uhm, sir, I hope this does not sound rude but you do know that I'm a prostitute, right?" Marcellus asked hesitantly, worried that the kind gentleman was somehow confused about the establishment he had entered.

"What? No! No Marcellus! I'm not talking about that sweating disgusting thing you are forced to do with the other clients, just because your patron won't have it otherwise! I'm talking about making love the way that Paris would to his beautiful Helena, or Zeus to his precious Europa. The kind that starts with a fire in the heart, a tickle in the tummy, and simple dead honest trust."

"I don't think I understand what you mean." Marcellus said. He recalled all times that he had served the regulars of the lupanare. They all had been rough to him and the sex had been like a battle, with the slave at the bottom as the vanquished prisoner and his clients on top as his vicious lords and masters. There had been no tenderness, no warmth and consideration, only ugliness and competition in a perverted game that he had been taught to lose time after time. There had been nothing but fear and shame burning in his heart, and a sense of growing mistrust of other people's intentions.

"That's a shame." The senator said, honestly feeling sorry for the young man. "A man may loose his riches, his freedom and respect, but to never have loved once." He shook his head sadly. "It simply makes life not worth living for." He took a sip from the cup and then offered it to Marcellus.

"Still, it's not too late to learn. Take a good mouthful of this, young Marcellus. And let us begin with building our trust before we proceed to more the daunting challenges."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

9.

It was precisely a week after the Doctor had left the Master in Jack's care that the captain finally succeeded in rebuilding the first module of the time transporter. It didn't actually look like something that would win a prize at a science fair, it was basically the burned bits of the old machine welded on top of a computer motherboard and kept alive by a chaotic mesh of wires, but at least he got the little orange standby button lighting up again. Jack figured that if he keep up working every God-given hour of his free time on it, it would probably only take, what, about a hundred years or so to get the entire thing fixed? And even then he wasn't sure that it wouldn't just electrocute him instead of catapulting him into the right Roman era.

He wasn't exactly in a bright mood when suddenly the air in front of his desk quivered and rippled as if it turned liquid. The Doctor materialized in front him, bathing in the familiar green glow of the Tardis.

"Doctor!" Jack exclaimed, sounding a tad too overenthusiastic. He grabbed the recognizable bits of the time transporter from his desk and shoved it down a draw. "That's unexpected!"

The Doctor was dressed in striped PJs and a darkblue bathrobe. His hair stood right up as if he had been sleeping with his head in an odd position, and Jack noticed that he was wearing one of his white sneakers on his left foot, and a pink slipper with a bunny head drawn on it on his right.

The Doctor followed Jack's stare.

"It's not mine." He said, defensively. "Anyway, I'm not really there with you in the institute. I parked the Tardis on planet 4658 of the Aurelian solar system. This is me talking to you through a telehologram."

"Oh, good!" The captain sighed. At least he won't be able to search the lab.

"Oh good what?" The Doctor asked, puzzled.

"I mean, it's good that you can get away from here for a while." The captain stuttered. "You said you wanted some rest."

"Oh yes! You wouldn't believe it, but I slept through the entire week! I was so exhausted, I only got up an hour ago." The Doctor reached out and his hand disappeared out of sight for a while, but quickly returned, holding a steaming mug of tea from which he carefully took a sip.

"I'm just having breakfast." The Doctor explained. "It's been ages since I had a nice quiet morning for myself with some warm baked bread, freshly squeezed orange juice and a good cuppa. No one here to mess it up with totally unnecessary arguments about the right way to make toast, or just sitting over there being resentful and cranky because I dragged him out of bed before noon."

The Doctor went through his hair with his fingers and scratched behind his ears.

"It's peaceful, not a bloody sound." The Doctor looked around pensively, and stuck a hand in his pocket. "I can even hear myself think."

"That's good Doctor." The captain smiled hesitantly, not sure how he should react.

"Yes. Ehm." The Doctor was suddenly getting a bit flustered. "Tell me, how is he?"

"Who?"

"The Master. Did it go well?"

"Oh, yes. The bioconverter worked perfectly. He's human now." Jack felt a drop of sweat running down the back of his neck.

"Oh good!" The relief that was showing on the Doctor's face made Jack feel even more guilty. "So he's fine! That's fantastic!"

"Oh yeah, he's all right. I promised you, didn't I?" Jack Harkness, you double-faced lying son of a bitch, Jack thought. What the hell do you think you're doing? He's bound to find out sooner or later. Why not tell him the truth?

A scenario flashed before his eyes in which he honestly told the Doctor that he had sold his favorite homicidal Timelord into a Roman brothel. The reaction of the Doctor involved the use of his sonic screwdriver on one of Jack's more private parts. The captain quickly killed that idea with a stone.

"So, where did you send him?" The Doctor asked, nonchalantly but urgently between two sips of tea.

"You can't ask me that." Jack smiled sourly. "I'm sorry, but I am not supposed to tell you where he is."

"Yes I know. But I could guess right? You know what would be really good? If you had brought him somewhere where it is Christmas! One in which the streets are covered in a thick blanket of snow, and there are colorful little lights burning in the decorated pine trees. Christmas would be a wonderful time for him to start over again." The Doctor stared into the distance, a dreamy look in his eyes.

"Doctor, I didn't exactly…" The captain tried.

"The cold air filled with that wonderful smell of chestnuts roasting on open fires, and people singing Christmas carols…He's going to love that! Well, at least I think he will. Everybody likes Christmas carols, right?"

"Doctor, you asked me yourself…"

The Doctor sighed and glanced at Jack with a shameful look on his face. "Okay-okay, I will stop trying to fish for information. Well-done captain. Not a word. I knew I could trust you with him."

Fortunately for the captain the room was too dark for the Doctor to see how flustered his face was becoming. Somewhere sitting on his right shoulder, the good side of Jack was in outrage and yelled in its chipmunk voice that he should spill the beans before the lies were getting any worse. The persistent little fellow could have certainly been successful if it wasn't for the sudden appearance of the little evil version of Jack who punched him on the face and pushed him off captain's shoulders.

"He's somewhere safe, and he's living a good life." Jack lied through gritted teeth. "You shouldn't worry about him."

"That's all I wanted to know." The Timelord smiled sadly. "Guess I will be off again then." He took a last sip from his mug and put it down somewhere outside the transmitted image. "I got a whole list of planets to visit for today."

"Where are you going?" Hopefully he's planning to go on a long holiday on some kind of planet cruiser, the miniature evil Jack whispered.

"Everywhere really. I did some research and hand-picked a couple of planets that could perhaps be suitable for the Master and I to visit. You know, the kind that has no living things on it for him to kill. I also found a couple that he should like. There is this one called Zolos in the Kalacsos star system, it looks exactly like that planet on that TV show with those blue-yellow-green critters with television sets in their stomachs. I figured it would be a pleasant surprise for him once he's turned back. It will be like a welcome home gift."

"Turned back." Jack uttered, the little devil Jack fainted and rolled right off his shoulder. "Into a Timelord you mean?"

"Yes. Of course." The Doctor said. "This was just to give me some time to make up a new strategy. I can never let him live out his entire life as a human. It wouldn't be fair to the Master. He hates to be human, he thinks the human race is a primitive sort of monkey that happens to walk on two legs and knows how to type its name into a computer. No offence."

"None taken." Muttered Jack.

"So I will be off. You keep an eye on him for me captain. I'll be back in month or so. You still have the fob-watch?" He asked, making sure.

"I hid it somewhere safe." Jack answered, glad to be not telling a lie for change.

"Good. I'll be in touch."

The image of the Doctor flickered for moment, and then disappeared into thin air. The captain kept staring at the now empty spot in the room for while, a feeling of deep despair slowly seeped into his veins.

10.

Marcellus had first been given enough to drink to lose his anxiety before the senator proceeded. The older man had started with caressing every part of the slave's body in such an affectionate and loving way that he soon had the boy shivering in anticipation. His experienced hands then wandered down, and slipped into the moistness between the slave's legs. Marcellus didn't know what was happening to him. He had never been granted any pleasure during service before. The new wonderful sensations that built up in his body caused his mind to go blank. He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, and his wet lips opened to gasp for air when the senator took his cock in his warm hands and stroked it slowly till it became hard with need. Marcellus moaned, his head filled with the warmth of the wine, his body arching in desire and begging entrance. Then the hands were gone, and Marcellus had turned to the senator and had begged not in words but in moans and whimpers, for him to take him as a slave. He had never felt so eager. His cock shuddered hungrily and dripped juices down his legs. The senator had smiled knowingly, before he turned him around and pushed him down on his hands and knees on the floor. He milked the slave's pulsing cock and used the juices to moist the boy's anus. His hands slipped between his buttocks and penetrated him with one, two slippery fingers.

"Remember how this feels Marcellus." The senator spoke, while gently caressing his face. "I admit that it's not exactly love, but it's the best thing next to it."

He entered the slave, his member sliding into Marcellus, slick like a snail retracting in its house. It slipped deep inside him, only to retract, and re-enter again. Soon the motions came as balanced and gentle as the tides of the sea. Marcellus shuddered deliciously, opening his mouth to gasp for air, just when the senator grabbed his discarded belt and pushed it between the slave's teeth. He pulled on the leather like a master steadying his steed.

"Now slowly my boy. Breathe slowly and deep."

Marcellus took a deep long breath, his eyes were closed as he moaned softly, while a trickle of saliva dripped down his chin. His body relaxed and sunk further into the scrumptious sensations, while the senator rode him like a horse, his hips pumping into him, while he shamelessly and greedily accepted it, begged for it, every thrust, and every pull, as it went deeper and deeper inside, filling him up completely.

The senator's hand still cupped the slave's cock, and Marcellus started to rub against it as would a dog in heat, relishing the friction as the sensitive tip brushed against the older man's fingers. He moved faster and faster, following his master's pace. The tension building up inside his cock made the blood in his balls throb viciously. His mind was shutting down for everything around him except for the desperate need to come.

The senator gave one long thrust and Marcellus felt how his master pulsed and twitched inside him before the hot stream of cum flooded into his belly. The slave pushed hard against the hand of the senator one last time. His cock spasmed fiercely and he finally shot his cum into his master's palm, his body shivering uncontrollably of both exhaustion and pleasure as he came.

They both collapsed onto the wooden floor, tired but fulfilled. The senator, wearing a content grin on his face, wiped the cum from his fingers on the bed linen, while even Marcellus, drunk on a sudden rush of happiness that washed over him, allowed himself to smile.

"Now that was definitely something that was not on the menu downstairs." The senator spoke.

For the first time since the Master had become human, Marcellus burst into a pleasant laughter.

The rest of the evening proceeded peacefully. They enjoyed a second carafe of wine and some bread, sausage, and olives that the senator ordered from downstairs. The kind gentleman allowed Marcellus to wolf down most of the food, while he kept himself to the wine, knowing that the boy would normally not be fed very well by his patron. After they had finished the meal both men lay down in the narrow bed. As the senator insisted to know everything about Marcellus, they talked for while, although according to the young slave, there wasn't exactly much to tell. He could not remember anything remarkable about his past that would amuse or astound the senator.

The senator lay next to Marcellus, leaning on his elbow and resting his head on his hand. The wine had rushed up into his head, making him even more talkative than normal.

"Are you sure you don't remember anything more in detail my dear boy?" He asked.

Marcellus shook his head. It immediately made him feel dizzy as the wine started to affect him too. "Everything I know about myself I've already told you sir. I'm afraid that there is nothing remarkable to it."

"But all that you have told me were mere dry facts, numbers even." The senator disagreed. "You know your birth date and the town that you were born in, you even now the exact dates of your parent's and sibling's death, and you know when you left Londinium and when you arrived in Rome. But all this is knowledge absolutely soulless. You could probably go down to the imperial archives and look this information up directly from the scrolls. It's something that a civil servant might write down for documentation when he's bored out of his mind, but it's not a real description of a life."

"I really don't know anything more than this." Marcellus apologized. "All the things that I truly remember only happened to me since the day that my old master sold me to Simon." He pressed his hand on his closed eyes. "I'm sorry. There must be something wrong with me. I must have lost my memories or something."

"A bump on the head." The senator nodded. "Not unusual if your master was cruel. The streets of Rome are littered with sad demented fools whose former masters had beaten the light of reason out of them. But if that's your condition, have solace in the knowledge that you are not that far gone. At least still you can talk and think like a sound human being."

"I don't think that my former master used to hit me." Marcellus objected hesitantly. "I mean, sure he was cruel enough to sell me into prostitution, but I can't remember him beating me or anything."

"If he did you wouldn't know, that's the point Marcellus! You naïve little lamb! Now I believe that a condition as such can be treated. All you must do is open your mind and search for traces that you could use to uncover the rest of your memories. Tell me anything that you can remember Marcellus, even if it is just a smitten of a information."

"Anything?"

"Anything that comes into your mind."

"Well, I can still remember the first client that I've served." Marcellus uttered. "I remember it vividly because he made me lick up his…"

"No you silly boy!" Yelled the senator, pulling a disgusted face. "No nothing about whatever filth you are forced to do in this perverted house of pleasures. Really, if you continue to talk like that I would indeed question the poor state of your mind. I meant that you have to tell me something that is not connected to the lupanare. Can you do that for me Marcellus?"

"I'll try." Marcellus answered, and went through his limited recollections again although it was more to please the senator than anything else. He had no hope of uncovering something new to tell. However, he suddenly realized, there was something remarkable that had been occurring to him for a while, something that might be worth to tell the good senator.

"I don't really know if this counts as a recollection." Marcellus said, awkwardly. "But I do have some reoccurring dreams which seem pretty strange."

The senator clapped in his hands. "Right. Let's hear it."

"I was sitting in a room in the dark, tied up to a chair. My old master was there too."

"Was he punishing you?"

No, he was not saying anything. He didn't do anything. Actually I was the only one who was speaking. I was yelling at him, calling him names, making him angry. He came over to me and called me a murderer, I laughed at him and spat in his face." Marcellus voice trailed off as he looked at the senator worriedly. "If I had really done that it's actually no wonder that he hit me in the head. I was absolutely insufferable and had no respect for my master."

"I doubt if this had truly happened my young friend, now do go on."

Marcellus looked down at the bed sheets, thinking furiously. "I also made fun of someone called the Doctor. I called him an idiot and pestered my master with the knowledge that I, that I…"

"You did something awful." The senator gently suggested. "Something that qualified the label murderer that was marked on you."

Marcellus nodded slowly. "I killed people. I tortured them. I killed my master. I actually killed him more than once, and mocked him by laughing about it. There was no regret in my words, and no repentance in my heart. I enjoyed every second of it. Oh God this is horrible!" Marcellus uttered as he snapped out of his train of thoughts and let the true meaning of is own words sunk into him. "I dreamt that I was a cold blooded monster!"

"Calm down my young friend. As you suggested, it's still merely a dream. Now you mentioned someone called the Doctor. Can you find another memory that's connected to this physician or whatever he is."

Marcellus closed his eyes for a moment, digging deep into his mind. "The Doctor." He said in a sudden straightforward voice, as if this information was somehow solid, like a fact. "He is not a physician, the Doctor is his name." He opened his mouth to say more, but his mind shut down immediately. "Ehm, I don't know…" Marcellus stuttered. "There is nothing more to say about him really."

The senator had immediately noticed the young man's reactions as he tried to recall the memories of the man behind the unusual name. It seemed to him that this Doctor person could be an important key to open Marcellus memories of the past, so he decided to push it a little further, although he had also noticed that it made the poor slave anxious.

"Does he appear in any other dreams of yours?" He asked encouragingly.

"I don't think so." Marcellus closed his eyes again, trying to work around the massive wall that his mind has pulled up in front of this part of his memories. "Wait, there is this old man, he's the Doctor. Or at least I've made him old, he's not that old by himself really." He shook his head, trying to get the confusing information sorted out. "I'm sorry sir. This really makes no sense at all."

"Tell me everything just the way as it comes into your mind. Dreams are elusive little buggers, they may be incoherent and strange, but they contain more than often a core of truth. We just have to cut out that core and discard the rest. So go on Marcellus. Nothing is too strange for me."

And so Marcellus continued to tell the senator about his unusual dreams. He told him about the glistering floating metallic spheres that considered him as their lord and master and maimed and murdered on his request, he told him about a gigantic palace in the sky shaped like a bird, that floated so far above the earth that it could almost touch the stars. He told him how he was so clever that he could make a machine that could counter act time, and how he killed the future kings and emperors of the world only to crown himself Caesar to rule over all the nations of human kind as a mad tyrant with a thirst for blood. He told him about the Doctor, and his voice trembled ever so slightly when he mentioned his name, and recalled how he was his enemy, his counterpart, and his equal. A man who lived by his high moral ground, who tried to save and mend, while he was out for destruction. An exceptional man who was forgiving and kind, while he sought vengeance and could never forgive.

The senator did not speak, only listened patiently, sometimes nodding, sometimes encouraging him to go on. When Marcellus was finished with his stories, he looked into the older man's face, seeking a reaction, expecting a sign of repulsion perhaps for all the wicked and horrible scenes that he had painted before the good senator's eyes. But there was no judgment in the older man's face, his smile remained friendly and honest.

"You must think that I'm mad." Marcellus sighed, his cheeks were flushed bright red.

"Nonsense boy. Only a fool will condemn a man for what he dreams."

"But I did all those horrible things. I tortured people, just for the fun of it." Marcellus clutched his hair in despair. "I think I might be ill in the head for making these things up."

"Listen dear Marcellus. You know that these are dreams. You have done none of those things so you shouldn't feel sad or remorseful about it. I only pushed you to recall them because I believe that they might reveal something about your elusive past."

"But how do all these delusions make sense?"

The senator shook his head, sadly. "I'm afraid that I cannot provide you with an answer just now my lovely young friend. I wished that things were much more simple, but the dreams that you describe are so vivid and detailed, with every aspect of it brought so plausible to my ears that I have real trouble with separating the grains from the wheat and distill the truth out of the imaginary."

"I haven't told this to anyone." Marcellus confessed. "I even think that I didn't realize I had those dreams before tonight. I mean, I recall them of course, but I have never thought about them for long, let alone put them into order." A cold sliver of fear ran over his bare back. The more he thought about his dreams, the more they actually frightened him.

"Maybe I'm being punished for all those vicious things that I have done."

"Marcellus, stop those gloomy thoughts immediately." The senator muttered. " If you start reasoning like that you may indeed be not much better of than those poor fools wandering in the streets. Here." He poured some wine into the cup and handed it over the slave. "Drink this down and we shall stop talking about this for tonight. Curing your condition is one thing, but I'm not ready to lose such a fine and true young lad in the process. Let us prepare for bed and have a good night sleep. We shall speak of these matters another time."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

That night Marcellus had much trouble to fall asleep. As soon as he closed his eyes, he saw the faces of his victims, distorted by agony, paralyzed by fear. He saw the bright metallic spheres spinning around him, singsonging their worship to their master, before he snapped with his fingers and they threw themselves on his victims like hungry beasts in the arena, shredding the flesh off their bones. Blood spat into the air and rained down on his face and hands.

His lips spread into a deranged smile, as the rain of blood painted the world in a beautiful crimson color. It rained on the in gold decorated tree, making the twinkling lights hiss and change into delicate pink glows.

He watched over his minions, the metallic ones devouring the ones made of weak pink flesh. He clapped in his hands in delight when a dying woman threw herself against the bridge he was standing on, and grabbed onto one of his polished shoes in desperation.

"Trouble getting up young lady?" he crouched down by her side, his voice a mockery of empathy. "Here, let me get your hand." He took the girl's outstretched hand and pulled her up. She looked up gratefully at him as she thought she might be spared, but he whistled between his teeth and one of the murdering spheres flew up to them and chopped off the young woman's hand. She fell back screaming as blood gushed out of the horrific wound.

"There you go!" He chuckled, and tossed the hand back into the wonderful dying mess below. He spun around, put his hands in his pockets and danced back to the small company that had stood behind him and had watched the massacre unfold in horror.

"Oh don't look so glum people! It's Christmas! Come on, let yourself go for Christ's sake. Give me some smiles." He grabbed a handful of miniature mince-pies from a silver tray and popped them in his mouth. "You look like someone has died." He said, spitting crumbs in Mr. Jones his face. "I ordered you to smile Mr. convict, it's not a bloody funeral, so smile!"

Mr. Jones managed to produce some expression on his face that resembled a sour and frightened grin. The Master chuckled and patted the man's face. "See, it's that easy. And as for you lot." He spun around and gazed at the others, holding up his laser-screwdriver that glowed maliciously.

"I SAID SMILE!"

He watched with satisfaction how Mrs. Jones and Mina jumped up in fright, and immediately responded to his command by pulling painful smiles on their faces. He particularly enjoyed it that the lower lips of both women trembled ever so slightly as they muffled their cries.

Wonderful! Excellent! Look at us! One big happy family. Now let us sing a song together. One of those tooth-achingly sweet carols, I know how much the Doctor adores them.

"How about it gramps, shall we sing?"

He kicked the side of the wheelchair in which an old and withered man was sitting. A sound of bells suddenly sounded through the room, and a music started to play that was both familiar and joyful. The spinning spheres started to sing like cheerful children.

Jingle bells jingle bells

Let's praise our generous Master well

Oh what fun

It is to slice

With our brand-new razor blades!

"Darling little critters aren't they, those toclafanes." The Master grinned, almost affectionately. "They are so adorably grateful, one package of Gillete razors in their stockings and they are so happy that they will play with it for hours! Which is more than I can say for you Doctor."

The Doctor didn't answer, just stared sorrowfully into the God-knows-where distance, his ancient face expressing not even a trace of fear.

"Doctor, any reactions?" He kicked the wheel again, more viciously this time, lifting the aged Timelord half out of his seat. "Anything? No? Nothing again?" He crouched beside him, his face at his level, their eyes met. "Now don't you think that's just a tincy whimsy ungrateful, Hm?" He asked, pouting his lips and making a sad face. "What is it with you, you boring old fart. I've went through so much effort to give you this bullocks festive poeha, and you don't even so much as thank me for it. I thought you loved Christmas!" He exclaimed, clasping his hands. "I brought this bunch up here just for you. I know how much you love those biped monkey, so here they are!" He made a grand gesture with his hand pointing into the direction of ongoing massacre. "Well here they were perhaps, not much left but a few screaming scraps, but hey, you were the one who didn't care to look them into the eyes when they were still in one piece. Not my fault." He jumped up, grabbed the wheelchair and rammed it into the railing.

"Take a good look at them down there now, Doctor." He grinned, pushing down a purple paper crown on the other Timelord's head. "Your favorite pets, shredded into dogfood, dying in front of your very own eyes. Now, doesn't that make you wanne scream." He studied the Doctor's face in anticipation. "How does it make you feel, sad? Angry? Hm?" Don't you just hate me for doing this to you? For doing this to all those defenseless, innocent humans?"

The Doctor remained silent, did not speak nor shout at him. There was no judgment in his eyes, no hatred, no loathing.

Nothing.

He spun the wheelchair around. His hands grabbed the Doctor's, pinning them down on the armrests. His head held high in defiance while looking down at the old man, staring directly into his eyes.

"Now, don't you just wish that you could kill me?"

At long last something happened, a reaction from his defeated enemy. Eagerly, he observed the change in the Doctor's eyes. But it wasn't vindictiveness, it wasn't the expected hatred, not even fear that he witnessed. No, what appeared in the Doctor's eyes was something that was completely incomprehensible, something that his brilliant mind could not even grasp the concept of, let alone that he was anywhere capable to act upon it.

But the Doctor, he understood.

He knew when it should be given, and who should receive it.

"No, you don't!" He commanded, but his voice had lost its power, was merely a whisper as fear grasped onto his throat.

The Doctor smiled sadly at him, in his eyes nothing but compassion and pity. Just three words, no more. It was enough to bring the Master to his knees.

"I forgive you."

Marcellus thrashed awake screaming, his eyes large and white with fear, his body drenched in sweat, his heart rattling in his chest. The senator jumped out of his sleep, being roughly awakened by one well-aimed wallop of the young slave's foot in his stomach.

"Marcellus! By Hades, what got into you? How dare you to strike your superior!" The senator shouted angrily, but then he saw the shivering young slave sitting up next to him, his face pale as the moon, his cheeks streaked with tears.

"Marcellus? What happened?"

Marcellus couldn't answer him. He just shook his head, pulled his legs up against his belly and hid his face between them.

The senator's anger melted away, and he put an arm around the slave's shoulders. "Hush now. It's all right. Forget about all that philosophical nonsense that I told you earlier. It's a dream, my dear boy. Nothing more."

They stayed like this for a while, the older man just comforting the young slave in silence, neither of them finding the courage or the necessity to talk.

11.

It was still early in the morning with the sun still absent from the sky when Micranus knocked on the door of their room.

"Yes yes, I know what time it is!" The senator replied grumpily. "I'm not going to rush to anywhere. I've paid for the night till dawn, so I intend to stay till the sun actually shows itself! Leave us alone servant!"

Micranus, although being ordered by Simon to ask the senator to leave, did not dare to go against the senator's wishes, and left in a hurry.

The senator stretched his arms and legs that were a bit stiff after a night sleeping on the small bed. It wasn't meant to be shared with another person, as the slaves were expected to sleep on the floor while clients used the bed. But he had allowed Marcellus to sleep next to him, and his old body had actually received a couple of kicks from the young slave as he trashed and moved in his sleeps. Still, he had grown affectionate towards this peculiar but likable young man, and he would like to return and ask again for his service and company. His obscure past and his mysterious dreams were an enigma for him, something that the senator, who had always been a great thinker with a stoical but also cynical view of the world, liked to solve, not only for the benefit of his young friend, but also to satisfy his own curiosity.

Marcellus still sat on the bed while he watched his client getting dressed. In the short time that they had spend together, he had also grown to like and trust the wise senator. His heart sank a little when he pondered that this might be the last time that he would see his kind master. Although many clients of Simon's lupanare were regulars, most of the noblemen did not return, as they had a hunger for variety and found sleeping with a slave more than once dull and unimaginative.

"Senator." He asked, with all the courage that he could muster and being well aware of his recklessness. "I hope you will forgive me for daring to ask, but will you be visiting me again?" Of course not, he thought, who do you think that you are Marcellus? You're just a slave, foolish and insignificant, nothing worth so much as to spare a breath of air for. Besides, dawn has arrived and all that has passed between us in the dark hours of the night have faded from his memories like the stars in the morning sky.

But unexpectedly, the senator answered him with a generous and affectionate smile.

"I certainly would. As long as you keep yourself in good health, I will be visiting you as frequently as my reputation and my unthankful, bickering wife allows me to. Your stories have me quite intrigued, and I am more than inquisitive to find out the true meaning of them."

He grabbed his wooden cane and limped over to Marcellus. "Remember those dreams of yours, Marcellus. Next time when I come to visit, I want to hear all about them. And perhaps then you will also be comfortable enough to tell me about the nightmare that you had last night. The one so fearsome that it made you strike at a senator of Rome."

Marcellus looked gratefully at him, aware that the wise senator saw him not only as a slave but also as a friend. The older man took his hand and slipped a golden coin into his palm. Marcellus stared at it with surprise.

"But sir, you've already paid Simon for me. You don't need to pay him more." Marcellus said in confusion, but the senator shook his head.

"No my dear Marcellus, It's not for that fat Sicilian rat who whores you out! It's for you! Don't you know that slaves are allowed to buy their freedom from their masters in Rome? This Denary is for you to keep. When you have enough, you can go to Simon and tell him that you no longer want to work for him and that he can shove the senator's trusted cane up his own deprived arse. No don't laugh! It's a serious matter. You truly can become a freeman. All you have to do is practice a little diligence."

The senator took the coin from his hand and held it up in front of the slave's eyes.

"I know what you are thinking Marcellus. This Denary could buy you enough food to still your hunger, or some inexpensive clothes to cover up your nakedness and to keep you warm in the coming winter. You may even use it to bribe Micranus to treat you better, or even send him out to get these things for you behind your master's back. But that is not what you should aim for Marcellus, for the food will be finished and you will once again starve, and the clothes can be taken from you or simply wear away into nothing, and I can predict that Micranus bribed loyalty wouldn't even last a day. But if you are wise, and I believe you are smart Marcellus, so don't prove me wrong because I hate to be contradicted, you will not spend this Denary that I am giving you but hide it instead. Somewhere where Simon would not care to look, in the back of the latrines perhaps that smell so foul that no-one even dares to spend longer than is necessarily in there. You could hide it behind a loosened brick, or under a flattened cobblestone. I don't care, you think of something my boy. What matters is that you keep it safe. And next time, if your service is still as fine and satisfactory as tonight, and your stories as delightful, I will give you another gold piece, and you will hide that one too. How much did Simon pay for you?"

"25 Denaries." Marcellus replied. He understood where the senator was going, and prospect of being able to free himself from this life of slavery and prostitution kindled his hopes and sped up the pace of his heart.

"Well then, 25 Denaries is what you need to collect. That will take you about a year and a half, two years perhaps if my wife gets really nasty. But then that day will come Marcellus. I will go with you if you request, for Simon will not be happy to see you go. For such a fine young lad like you 25 Daneries was merely a bargain, and the greedy goat will like to earn more off your back. He will complain and grumble and demand more money, but I will be backing you up my boy, and in the end he will have to agree to set you free."

The senator placed the coin back in Marcellus hand and closed the slave's fingers around it.

"On that day my dear Marcellus, you will gain your freedom, and no-one can take that precious price away from you."

Marcellus looked up at the senator, the gratitude that he felt for his exceptional kindness blocked the words in his throat, leaving him unable to speak.

There came a hesitant knock from the other side of the door. Micranus asked once again, very polity though urgently, if the respected senator was ready to leave.

The senator rolled his eyes and stamped twice with his cane on the floor. "Yes yes, I'm not deaf. I will be on my way in a minute. Now go away servant, or I will order your master to whip that insolent backside of yours!"

The senator turned back to Marcellus. "Till next time my young friend." He gave him a small wink, and scuffled to the door to make his way downstairs.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

12.

The Doctor wasn't happy. In the past few months he had visited numerous planets in countless solar systems in so many different galaxies that he had seriously lost count by now. However, not one of the carefully selected places and times that he traveled to was suitable to be inhabited by two battling Timelords from which one was a dangerous homicidal madman. There was for example this tiny speck of a planet in the far-away galaxy of Odin that according to the on board 565th edition of the atlas of the universe should be devoid of intelligent life. However, once arrived, the Doctor quickly found that there was a race of aliens of higher intelligence already living on the planet. Only, they were so small that it was hard to find them between the blades of grass. A scenario playing in the Doctor's head in which the Master took out a lawn-mower for a drive over the peaceful meadows was enough to convince the Timelord that this place wasn't for them. And on another planet in the Isia star system, he found a race so far developed in culture and intelligence that they could be considered one of the wisest beings in the universe. They had not known war, death, or disease for eons, and they were too bright to be ambitious. Their society was therefore one of peace and harmony. It seemed at first the ideal place to live with the Master, for these higher beings could not be corrupted by the renegade Timelord charms, however, they did have a weakness. Although they were wise, they still coveted one thing: More wisdom. They received the Timelord as an honored guest, but they also picked his mind for every fact, every memory, and every emotion that they no didn't possess themselves. For the Doctor, it didn't seem wise to expose the Master to such scrutiny. The inhabitants were keen not only to catalogue the knowledge obtained from the different alien species that they encountered, but they also had the less pleasant habit of collecting the more anomalous specimen amongst them for further study and, as they see it, to rid the universe of the unharmonious elements. Being frank, the Doctor wasn't sure that these beings were not going to dissect the Master's brain to get it pickled and labeled as a marvelous example of a disturbed mind. Visiting this planet with the other Timelord was therefore out of the question.

And so there were incalculable other planets, all of them strange but wonderful and exciting, but none of them could be spared of the annihilation, enslavement or corruption of its inhabitants that, in the Doctor's mind, the Master could initiate with one snap of his fingers.

The Doctor sighed, leaning over the console of the Tardis navigation system, he considered the possibility of just giving up for today. He would let the Tardis make up a new list of planets that were possible candidates, and start afresh in the early morning.

Or he could jump to one more planet that was not on the list for today, and visit the captain at the Torchwood institute late in the evening to find out how the Master's been doing.

The Doctor knew that he shouldn't, and his mind warned him that he had promised himself that he wouldn't interfere with the human Master's life, but his fingers seemed to have a will of their own, and had already started to type in the familiar coordinates for the sun's solar system into the navigation program.

It wouldn't hurt if he just asked if he was still doing all right, he convinced himself, and pulled over to lever to send the Tardis back into the time vortex.

13.

A soft warm breeze entered the room. Marcellus closed his eyes for a moment, and relished in the scents that he could pick up from the outside air. There was the a smoke rising from the kitchen below, mingled with the dark smell of shimmering coals, and the sweet, delicate scent of the cypresses growing in the hidden gardens across the street. Somewhere in the olive trees, cicadas scratched their strange serrenade. Marcellus slowly stretched his pleasantly aching muscles, the smell of sex and the senator's sweat still lingered on his body.

The good senator had indeed kept his words and came to ask for Marcellus's services frequently. The second time he visited, he even properly introduced himself to the young man. The senator's name was Cealus Hortalus, and he was one of the best-loved and most respected men in Rome. He had served Emperor Claudius for more than 24 years. Cealus did not speak often about his work, but if he did, he was bound to tell Marcellus something that reflected the respect that the senator had for the good emperor, for all the mistakes that the old emperor Claudius made, and the flaws that he had, he was a saint compared to the emperor Caligula who Cealus had experienced before him. According to Cealus, Caligula was a real piece of work, and every time when Marcellus was telling the senator about his new dreams and recalled about how evil and mad his alter-ego was, Cealus would shake his head and surpass him with a story about the late emperor. It was his way to comfort Marcellus by teaching him that evil could lurk in every man, even in the great emperors of Rome.

"I've never seen him in person. I know his face only from his portraits on coins and pictures. However, if it wasn't for that man things would have turned out differently for me. For example, I wouldn't need _this_ to walk." Cealus lifted up his cane, held it in front of Marcellus eyes, and let it slide back onto the floor through his fingers.

Marcellus had always wondered but would have never dared to ask how the senator got his bad leg. But that night, the senator seemed eager to talk.

"He gave you this limp?"

"You might say that. You see, my father was the great senator Drusus Hortalus the elder. Everyone in Rome knew him as an honorable, decent, and brave man, who kept his word and stood by his morals. That Doctor of your would have loved him. He survived emperor Tiberius before he finally came into service of Caligula. Emperor Caligula hated the senate. He thought that they were all against him because they wanted to get rid of the emperors and restore the Republic that Rome once was. It didn't help that the young emperor was as mad as the kicking backside of a drunken mule and as vicious as a starved wolf in winter. So he thought out elaborate plans to get rid of the more annoying elements of the government. He made the noblest men among them look like fools by forcing their wives to work as prostitutes, and brought them close to desperation as he ordered the oldest sons of the senators to join the Roman army. He sent them all to Germania to fight in the front line, which meant they were doomed to perish in the muddy fields of Northern Europe. My oldest brother Drusus the younger never came home. It wasn't even possible for my father to obtain his remains. We burned an clay image of him on the funeral pyre."

Cealus paused for a moment, his pale hands leaning on his cane. There was a haunted look in his eyes as if his dead brother's ghost was still with him.

"From that day on, my father lost all respect for the emperor. He still went to the hearings in the senate, but only because he wanted to continue to serve the people of Rome. On one unfortunate day, my father and a number of other senators were to present a petition, asking for an equal distribution of grain amongst the poor in the different quarters of the city. The emperor, bored and in a spiteful mood, ordered the senators to follow him out into the streets. He than ordered his servant to bring him his favorite horse Incitatus, and mounted the animal to stroll around the forum at a running pace. When the senators objected that they weren't yet finished with the petition, he simply replied that they should run next to Incitatus and just continue to read the damn thing. My father informed him that this request was demeaning and that no noble senator would lower himself to that. Do you know how the emperor replied?"

Marcellus shook his head. "He wouldn't be affected. A man like him cannot be called upon his morals or empathy."

"Correct. He said that if he only allowed his two Egyptian breed dogs to run next to his horse, than it must be an honor for the senators or Rome to do the same." Cealus smiled sadly. "While the rest of the senators, fearing for penalties, complied to the emperor's orders, my father would not yield. He let Caligula know that he would not object to walk next to the emperor's dogs nor his steed that were creatures of fine and noble breed, it was walking next to the emperor that degraded him."

"Your father was very brave to stand his ground." Marcellus said with admiration.

"My old man." Cealus grinned. "One of the finest orators of Rome. His tongue could be sharp like a knife if he wanted to. But of course, in the end my father had to pay the price." He looked down on the floor, his head resting on his cane. "The emperor didn't react immediately, his face did not betray his anger but remained calm and deceptive as a thin layer of ice in the Northern winters, but my father knew that he and his family were now in great danger. He rushed home and asked my mother to get the servants to gather all the valuables and pack lightly, for we had to flee the city before nightfall. Still we were too late, just as the entire household was at the point to leave our home, the soldiers arrived. They read out an order signed by the emperor himself. My father, the noble senator who had served Rome so well and had lost a son in its army, was accused of treason. All that belonged to our family was to be confiscated to fatten the emperor's treasury, and the dishonored senator and his remaining son was to be executed in public in the arena. There was no trail to be held, for there was no more justice except for the type that suited the madness of vicious Caligula. My father and I were dragged to prison where we were received by the guard prefect Naevius Marco. He saw to it that the more specific orders of the emperor were to be carried out till in the finest, sickest detail."

Cealus paused for a moment and sighed deeply. These were the memories of his past that he would rather have forgotten.

"What did they do to your father sir?" Marcellus asked, hesitantly.

"The prison guards smashed my father's legs with a mace. They didn't stop till the broken bones were cutting wounds into the flesh. Even then my father pleaded to his tormentors to spare me. But the emperor's orders could not be denied."

The senator rubbed over his right leg as the recollection of that night brought out a phantom pain that spread like a snake's toxin over his bad limb.

"They smashed the mace down on my leg twice before someone ordered them to stop. It was Caligula's uncle Claudius. My mother had pleaded with him to save us, for he was the only one left in the empire who could temper the madness and cruelty of his nephew. He is the same Claudius who is now the Emperor of Rome. He rescued me from my father's fate."

Cealus looked up at Marcellus, who was sitting silently on the narrow bed, listening to the recollections of senator's past with compassion and a growing sense of resentment towards the late emperor.

"The following day, my mother and I were forced to watch my father being dragged out into arena. They set the hungry African beasts on him. The emperor himself, whose petty vindictiveness was the cause of all this evil, was absent from the execution, for he found the warm weather too uncomfortable and the rest of the program too boring to watch. Prefect Macro was sent to arena to observe, and he gleefully informed us that the only thing that the emperor ordered him to report was if old Drusus Hortalus still preferred to run next to noble beasts, or would he by now have changed his mind."

The senator fell silent. From outside, the first morning birds started to sing in anticipation of dawn.

"I'm sorry." Marcellus whispered. "You must hate him for all that he had done to you and your family. He destroyed your lives."

The senator shook his head slowly. "When I was young and the Caligula still alive, I indeed wanted revenge. I hated him with such a passion that it consumed my every thought. I believed that all I wanted was for that cruel tyrant to die a violent and miserable death. But when he was indeed murdered four years later, I didn't feel any joy or satisfaction. There was no solace in his demise. The Gods had granted me my precious wish, and after it was fulfilled I found out that there was nothing left in my heart but a huge black hole where my hatred had once burned."

Cealus looked up and gazed into Marcellus's eyes, his face suddenly looked so much older, the lines on his forehead betraying the pain and sorrow of his younger life.

"I no longer hate him, and he's forgiven."

"How could you just forgive him, sir." Marcellus objected. "He was a monster."

"My dear boy, Caligula is dead. Bones and flesh returned to dust. He won't notice a thing of my resentment. But I am still very much alive."

The senator walked over to the window. A thin streak of light started to appear at the dark blue horizon, a new day had arrived.

"I had allowed my anger consume me. I didn't have truly lived a single day ever since my father died. I decided that I would no longer let that happen to me. So therefore, I have only forgiven him to safe myself."

The senator turned around, facing the young slave.

"No one can live with all that hate and not go mad, dear Marcellus. Forgiveness is not given to the ones who deserve it, but because it's needed. I needed Caligula to be forgiven for my life to go on. And as for your Doctor, he knew that the Master needed to be forgiven to allow him to get a second chance in life."

Cealus read the anxious reaction on Marcellus's face. He limped over to the bed and sat down next to him.

"Don't look so sad my dear boy. I haven't told you this story to evoke pity for a senator from a slave. I just wanted you to understand why I think that the Doctor's decision was the only right one to make."

Marcellus had difficulty to compose himself. Indeed, he had felt a growing sense of injustice that had grasped his heart in response to what had happened to the senator's family, and kindled in him an empathizing need for revenge. However, in case of the Doctor being merciful to the Master, there was another more intense emotion that was evoked in him. What he felt was a strange sense of resentment towards to Doctor, as if this act of kindness was the last straw in the mount of insolence and humiliation that he had to endure. It even passed his mind for a moment that he would rather die than to be granted a chance to atonement by someone so sickening righteous as he was.

"Marcellus?" The senator placed his hand on the slave's shoulder. "Is there something wrong?"

A gentle pounding that sounded like drums rang in his ears. Marcellus shook his head and it was gone.

"No sir. I'm all right. It's just…I don't think they should be forgiven. These two people are rotten to the core. If I were you sir, I would pray to Pluto every day that he may torment that man for the rest of eternity by feeding him to the dogs of hell, or drown him in the river Styx. And if I was the Doctor…"

Marcellus swallowed some of his anger, realizing that the senator was looking disturbed. The pounding in his head became worse, swelling up like a large wave over darkened waters.

"If I was him, I wouldn't bother." He shook again his head irritably to get rid of the drums and the Doctor, but they wouldn't leave him alone, and filled his mind with a torrent of confusing ideas. "He's fighting a lost cause. It's childishly naïve of him to think that I would even yield an inch into the direction that he wants me to go to. I mean, who does he think that he is, hm?" Marcellus eyes were suddenly blazing with defiance. "He wiped out a nice number of aliens himself. I'm not the only one who murders. He's not better than I am. And What am I? I am just a lowly slave. They treat me like a bloody whore. I…" Marcellus pressed his hands onto his ears and shut his eyes. The drumming was so loud and so frightening, he wanted it to stop, he wanted himself to stop rambling, but he couldn't, for a frighteningly irrational thought formed in his mind that slowly transformed fear into hatred.

"I get it now." He muttered. 'I'm being punished. The Doctor did this to me, that double-faced hypocritical bastard!" He yelled from the top of his lungs, pressing his chin down on his chest. Rocking softly, he blinked, and tears rolled down his face.

"But that's good, that's a good thing." Mumbling and nodding, he looked up at the senator, wearing a fragile smile on his face. "I deserved it. Just like mad Caligula deserved to be hacked into pieces."

"Marcellus, oh my poor boy." The senator spoke, and he gently took the slave in his arms and lay down his head on his shoulder. "What has this foolish old man done to you now. Calm down. Don't think like this."

Marcellus's face was hidden in the fabric of the senator's toga, and as his body shuddered, Cealus thought that the boy was crying again. It was only when he heard the slave's laughter that he realized that he wasn't.

"Marcellus?" The senator observed the slave's irrational behavior with growing concern. "Oh by Jupiter, please don't tell me that you have lost your wits."

"But don't you see sir! I was right!"

"Right about what?"

"The Doctor. He is not better than me! He couldn't forgive. Not even him." He sighed out of relief. The sound of the drums retreated, and his madness slowly disappeared with it. Only a few traces clung on to him a little longer, and these echoes of the Master spoke one last time to the senator.

"I still win." Marcellus said, grinning through his tears.

After he was brought back to his cell-like chamber the following morning, Marcellus used a shard from broken pottery that he had found on the floor to scratch two words on the wall behind the stone bed. He repeated them again and again, till the entire surface was covered with his feverish writings.

Marcellus, Master

Marcellus, Master

Marcellus, Master

Marcellus, Master

14.

It was a cold day in late autumn when the senator came to visit him for the very last time. They had once more spent the night together in the cozy little room that Marcellus had started to consider as the only safe place in the entire world. The senator had not acted differently towards him, being kind and understanding as always. But as dawn broke and the sun rose over the horizon, Cealus didn't wait till Micranus came to ask him to leave.

"Is something wrong sir?" Marcellus watched how the senator dressed up in a hurry.

"I hope not, my dear friend. But I need to rush to the senate for an early meeting. It's rather important." Cealus voice trailed off as he stared worriedly into the distance.

"It there something with the emperor?"

The senator nodded. "Emperor Claudius's wife Agrippina wants him to adopt her son and make him joint heir with his own son Brittanicus. For some reason, the emperor seems to listen to that witch of a woman and asked a dear friend of mine to change his will." Cealus shook his head, neatly draping his toga over his shoulder and folding the white fabric in such a way that the red stripes on his tunic were visible.

"I've seen her son Nero. He's still only a boy and seems to be a kind and clever enough lad. But that woman, she is a she-wolf in sheep's clothing. If the senate allows her to manipulate Nero into becoming Claudius's successor she will swallow up Rome. We must speak against this before it gets out of hand." He grabbed his cane and came over to Marcellus.

"Before I forget."

The senator gave Marcellus a golden coin. It was the last one he would ever receive from him.

"How many do you already have Marcellus? I lost count of it."

"13 pieces sir." Marcellus closed his hand around the coin. The metal felt cold against his skin.

"Another 12 pieces and you will be free then."

"And I would owe it all to you sir. Thank you." He said, sincerely.

"You thank me every time when I give you a coin. Save it for the day that you truly become a freeman." He stood up and made his way to the stairs. "On that day, my dear friend, I expect that you to treat me as your equal and buy me a fine meal to express your gratitude."

"I certainly will sir." Marcellus replied, smiling. "I will buy you a great diner with meat, fruit and wine, Even if I had to borrow the money from you first."

Cealus looked over his shoulder and smiled back at him before he left.

"Spoken like a real Roman citizen already! See you next time Marcellus. Remember those dreams for me."

Soon after the senator was gone, Micranus came up to the room to fetch him. Marcellus had hidden the coin under his tongue, making good use of the fact that the servant did not expect him to speak but to simply comply his orders by nodding his head and carrying out the task. He was brought back to the small prison-like chamber, where the pail with water for washing was already refilled for his next round of clients. Micranus then placed himself in front of the entrance with his trunk like arms crossed over his chest.

"The senator didn't give you anything again? No special gifts?" He asked. He always asked, and he always made sure that the slave wasn't hiding anything from him. It didn't help that Marcellus did not own any clothes to hide it in.

Marcellus shook his head and kept looking down submissively.

"Show me your hands."

He did what was asked of him.

Micranus inspected them, curling down the corners of his lips in disappointment.

Marcellus quietly stumbled over to the pail. He started washing his face, dunking his head and hands deep into the water. He spat out the coin and let it drop into his hands before reemerging to the surface.

He had just swallowed his first breath of air when the Moor came up to him and without warning, grabbed his cheeks and pushed his mouth open. He forced two fingers pass his lips and felt under his tongue. There was nothing there of course. The Moor let go of his face, grabbed him then by the shoulder and pressed him down on the stone bed. Marcellus's bony buttocks were now fully exposed. Micranus pushed his fingers inside the slave's anus, and felt for any hidden treasures. Once again, he was disappointed.

"Worthless!" He grabbed the slave by his hair and rammed his head against the side of the bunk bed. Blackness spread in front of the Marcellus's eyes, he collapsed on the floor, his hands shielding his head in anticipation of more blows to come. But Micranus managed to hold in his anger this time, and only kicked him once in the side under his ribs while cursing under his breath before he left him alone.

When he was sure that the Moor was gone, he crawled over to the pail, his head still dizzy from the blow. He hid the coin underneath it, just as he had done with the other pieces that senator Cealus had given him before. It was safe to keep it there till at least the following morning, when one of the girls would come to empty and refill the bucket under the nearby public fountain. He had to wait till the late hours of the night, when Simon, Micranus and the others had gone to sleep, to hide it properly.

The day passed by in the same monotonous series of events that made up his gloomy life. He served four clients. At the end of the evening he could remember none of their faces, but could recall the specific sadistic traits in each of their personalities, and felt each bruise and cut that they had inflicted on his skin. He endured them all without so much as a cry or a whimper, his mind wandered off as he dreamed of a life in outside these dark walls. When his clients allowed him to, he would turn his head and fix his eyes on the pail under which he imagined, he could see the golden coin, shining in the dark like a star in the night.

The evening was finally coming to an end, and outside he could hear Simon order Micranus to barricade the entrances with the large wooden panels and ask the last guests to leave before they close down the lupenare. The two remaining guests who paid for the night were already upstairs with the girls that they had selected. Marcellus sat on the floor with his back against the cool stones, he dipped the small piece of stale bread that he was given for today in the pail of water and stuffed it into his mouth. It wasn't enough to still his hunger.

He slept underneath the sheepskin after the oil-lamps were put out to save fuel, and his dreams remained blissful, with little to no sign of the Doctor. When he woke again, the lupenare was dark and quiet as a cave. The only sounds to be heard came from outside, the drunken chatter of two men in the backstreet and the barking of an dog alarming its master.

He climbed out of the stone bed, and searched for the pail with his hands. When he found it he slipped his fingers under the wooden bucket, and took the coin from its hiding place. Like a blind-man, he found his way to the entrance by following the damp walls by touch.

The large room outside was as dark as the chambers, with only two narrow strips of light running underneath the wooden panels fixed in front of the street entrances. Micranus slept on a straw mattress in front of the one that came out in the main street, which was the farthest away from the latrine. Marcellus carefully made his way to the other side of the room, and listened with a rapidly beating heart to every sound that came to him through the darkness, the soft snoring of the servant, a slave girl who stirred in her dreams in the cabin that he passed by. He reached the latrine, which was basically a hole in the floor that went three meters into the ground and was connected to the city's sewage systems. Marcellus crouched down in front of it, the strong smell of stale urine murdered the senses in his nose, and he quickly swallowed a deep breath of air to stop the reflexes that worked up from his stomach. He stuck his hand into the latrine, and removed one of the bricks at the back of the long shaft. There was a tiny crack in the cement in which he had hidden the rest of his treasure, and carefully, he added the last coin to the small pile, before covering it up again with the loose brink.

Cealus was right. Nobody in his right mind would bother looking in there. The stench alone was a punishment for the noses of slaves and freemen alike.

Marcellus made his way back to his chamber, his heart's pace already quieting down. The prospects of a life outside the city, of wandering over the lands, of seeing the stars, filling him with hope and a sense of bittersweet consolation.

He had not noticed that someone had been standing outside in the back-alley, and had observed all of his actions with growing interest by peeking through the gap that ran underneath the barricaded entrance.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

16.

He was roughly awakened from his sleep by a splash of cold water that hit his body. Instinctively, he scrambled away from the cold wet mess. When he opened his eyes, he saw Simon and Micranus looming over him.

"Drag this piece of horseshit out of here!" Simon ordered, leaving the work to his servant.

"What's happening?" Marcellus's senses were still dulled by sleep but nonetheless he was alarmed and frightened. Micranus did not speak, but grabbed him violently by the neck and pulled him out of bed. Marcellus fell on the floor, managed to avoid two malicious blows till the third one hit him full in the stomach. He was still nursing the vicious pain when the Moor picked him up again like a rag doll and threw him out of the chamber.

More kicks and blows followed, and Marcellus had to crawl, dodge and scuttle while the Moor chased him into the back alley. He finally ended up huddled against the wall, the huge Moor standing in front of him like a solid rock, blocking any possible ways to escape.

Simon stood next to the wooden beam that leaned against the lupanare, holding something in his hands.

"All right, where is it?" He snapped, his eyes twitched with anger.

Marcellus gazed up to his patron, confused and frightened.

Simon showed him the object that he was carrying, it was the merchant's treasury chest that Marcellus had seen only once before. The lid of the box was forced open, and when Simon held it upside down, the hinges broke and the heavy wooden top fell off and clattered on the stones.

He crouched down beside Marcellus, his voice was low and dangerous.

"Where is the money that you stole from me?"

Marcellus blinked his eyes, quickly realizing the predicament he was in.

"I didn't steal from you dominus. I swear!" He looked at the trashed remains of Simon's moneybox. His heart jumped like a startled rabbit. "I didn't even know where you kept that thing."

Simon remained silent but gestured with his head, and Micranus booted the slave in his crotch, making him howl out in pain.

"Now let me ask you again." Simon yelled over the slave's cries. "Where is the money that you stole from me?"

"I don't-I didn't-" The slave stuttered.

Another kick followed, once again in the groin region, the pain brought tears in the slave's eyes and he curled up to a ball. In front of him, golden coin pieces fell out of the sky and scattered all over the cobblestones.

"13 pieces of gold in total." Simon said, holding the last coin in his hand. "We found it in the latrine, you stinking little cunt, exactly where you hid it! Now tell me where you hid the rest of my money before I lose my bloody patience!"

"I didn't steal it sir! Please, believe me!" He watched how Micranus started picking up the pieces of the small fortune that the good senator had given him, the coins that he would have used to buy his freedom, and all the hope that he had cherished in his heart like a small spot of light in the darkness just vanished.

"Those coins – they are mine." He managed to whisper. "Senator Cealus Hortalus gave them to me. Please, don't take them." But he spoke so softly that no one could have heard him.

Simon had enough of it. He grabbed the Denaries out of Micranus hands. "Get this cunt to talk!" He hissed, his eyes spitting fire, and marched back inside.

Marcellus was once again tied to the wooden beam. He quivered in fear as he recalled the vicious pain that he had previously had suffered when he was burned with a hot iron, but the Moor had something else for him in mind. He had been ordered by his master to extract information, and he resorted to the most painful device that he could lay his hands on to perform the task. Micranus took from the stables a long and slender whip made of bull's skin, and added more weight to the tip by tying several knobs in it. The servant had once whipped a wound into the back of Simon's horse which took over a month to heal, he could only imagine what damage it would do on the more delicate human skin.

He cracked the whip on Marcellus back, causing a red line to rise across the skin. He hit him again and again, sweat soon dripped down his brow, his ears were deaf for the cries of the suffering slave, while his eyes remained fixed on his victim. The welts that rose at the sides of impact burst open like ripe fruit as the sharp tip of the whip cut through them like a knife. The knots that he had made caused vicious bruises that went from red to purple.

When Micranus finally stopped, Marcellus's back looked like a horrific patch blanket, with strips of skin ripped from the flesh on several places, while small streams of blood ran down his shivering legs. The Moor pulled up the slave's head to face him.

"Now, you tell me where you hid the rest of Simon's money, and I will spare you from more suffering." Micranus told the tortured slave.

"Please. I really don't – I don't know." Marcellus's voice was ruined after screaming and pleading for so long. "Please, no more of this. I beg you."

Micranus let go and the slave dropped his head.

Marcellus didn't scream anymore when the whip started hitting his buttocks and legs.

17.

The place was deserted, the Doctor had at least expected the captain to be there, but everyone had gone out, fighting the monster of the week presumably. He paced quickly through the empty headquarters into the direction of Jack's office.

He tried the door, but it was locked.

The Doctor hesitated. He could of course hop back into the Tardis and come back a few hours later. Or he could just go find the kitchen, make himself a nice cup of tea, and sit down and wait for them to come back.

Or-

He dug his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket and used it to force open the lock. It gave in with a little click. If he closed the door when he left, no-one would notice that he had broken into the room. The Doctor felt a bit guilty about this, but it was simply impossibly for him to resist. He promised himself that he would only take a peek into the database of the bioconverter. If he didn't spot the machine immediately in the captain's office, he would turn around and leave.

Luckily for the Doctor, the bioconverter still sat on top of the captain's desk with the writing module connected to it.

"Okay, only a short peek, no more." He muttered to himself. He turned on the module, his hands suddenly damp with sweat. He typed in the password and the system started to boot up noisily. He shortly considered doing something about the ventilation of the processor, as it sounded as if a helicopter was taking off. But his mind was quickly distracted when the first data streamed in. The information was coded in numbers, and he had trouble deciphering it at the pace that it was flying across the screen. He started up the translation program, and since it was not very quick, read the information sentence by sentence as it appeared in the right lower corner.

First the Doctor was amused, but then his mood quickly darkened as he absorbed the lines from the screen. The mechanical buzz of the machine fell away into the background. The captain's office dissolved around him till he was completely alone with the words while a vein pulsed remorsefully and angrily in his neck.

18.

It was early in the evening, the time when the bars and lupanares in the neighbourhood were becoming crammed with men who were eager to squander their earnings to get their minds off the worries of daily life. Simon's place was buzzing with the sound of laughter and talking of costumers inside who were getting pleasantly drunk while they enjoyed the company of their selected slaves. The patron himself however, was not be found at his usual spot behind the counter, but was standing outside with his servant Micranus, observing the shivering, whimpering mess that hung from the wooden beam in the back of the esthablishment.

"So." Simon said to his black servant, disappointment and anger written clearly on his face. "You hit him with the horsewhip-" He looked disgusted at the crusted bloodstains on the leather. The blood made dark smears on his hands that attracted flies. "You burned his soles with hot coals from the kitchen-" He hit the back of the slave's feet with the hard end of the whip, causing him to howl pitifully. "And you rubbed in his wounds with sand." He brushed over the slave's ruined backside with the whip's delicate tip, extracting another whimper from his victim.

Micranus nodded solemnly. "Yes dominus, I've really tried everything."

"And still- NOT A BLOODY SINGLE WORD OF WHERE MY MONEY WENT!" Simon cracked the whip on the slave's buttocks, sending a horde of flies into the sky, aiming maliciously at one large horrific looking wound on the ruined skin. He was furious. The whole afternoon he had mourned about his losses; a total sum of 143 Denaries that had been stolen from him, the entire profit of a year. He had hoped that he would be able to retrieve it by torturing this thieving ingrate to an inch of his miserable life, convinced that nobody could stand that long against Micranus's brutalities. But as the day proceeded and all of the Moor's efforts yielded no information at all, he started to dread that he would never to see his stolen money again. The slave was obviously a retard, being either too stubborn to tell where he had hidden the rest of the loot, or he could have dropped the coins down the latrine into the sewers by accident. Simon actually considered the latter as the most realistic scenario, as it would explain why the slave persisted to keep his mouth shut even under these severe tortures. The very idea flared up Simon's anger like oil would fuel a torch, and he drove down the whip onto the poor Marcellus with such brute force that soon his arm started to tire and he had difficulty catching his breath out of exhaustion. Finally, he threw the whip on the ground, cursing loudly at the damned slave, and managed to afford one more clumsy kick in the side before he had to lean against the beam for support. He eyed spitefully at the small number of guests who had gathered around the back-entrance to observe the spectacle like the audience of an arena would observe the slaughter of criminals by seasoned gladiators.

"Dominus." Micranus spoke, noticing the large amount of blood that Marcellus had lost. Puddles of it had formed underneath the slave's dangling feet. "Perhaps it would be wiser to stop for today. I don't think he can take much more."

Marcellus did not perceive any of this. His senses were dulled, as if a curtain was pulled over his eyelids and the rest of the world shifted behind it. His tormenters were translucent ghosts outside of his own existence. The only thing that did reach him was the mad humming of flies that that swirled around his putrid wounds and buzzed by ears.

Simon sighed, and felt the heavy reality of the loss of the substantial sum sink onto his shoulders. Coming to peace with it, some of the anger disappeared, but not all. He eyed at Marcellus, his features blank, but his mind slowly turning like a serpent rolling into a coil. He was above all, a merchant, and calculations of losses and profits were his second nature. However much he hated Marcellus, he remained an asset that could be used to retrieve some of the money that was lost. Although at this moment, he relished the idea of slitting the thieving slave's throat, and dumping its rotten cadaver into the Tiber.

"Cut him lose." He ordered instead. "And drag this piece of donkey shit inside the kitchen. I don't want the stench of him bothering the customers."

As soon as the rope was cut, the slave sank through his legs and collapsed on the street like some gruesome red puppet cut from its strings. He was dragged into the kitchen. The heat of the open cooking fires hit his face as they entered. Marcellus was propped up with his back against the wall that was as warm as an oven.

Simon crouched down next him, grabbed his chin and spoke in voice that was both a soft and threatening.

"Listen slave. I will have Micranus to tend your wounds and feed you properly for you to regain your strength. You get better now for I need you to earn back every single Denary that you took from me with your greedy little hands. I don't care to whom you have to prostitute yourself to get it done. You thought you had it bad before, tell me if you thought right after you have experienced the clients of –shall I say- the lower end of the market."

Simon let go of him and rose back up to his feet. Before he left, he sneered;

"By the way, if you fail to recover, I won't hesitate to get rid of you and throw you out in the streets. You will find company there, the stray dogs around here have acquired a taste for rotting human flesh."

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

19.

Jack came back later in the evening with his clothes smelling like rotten eggs and his arms and legs covered in some kind of exquisite alien slime. The monster of week had once again exploded in front of him and his team, leaving them enough bio-samples to collect and paperwork to archive for the rest of the night, if they were so lucky to get to the showers first before the warm water ran out. Being used to work himself into messy troubles, the captain let the rest of mob-squad squabble about who was going to get cleaned up first, while he retreated into his office for a stiff drink and a smoke. He was just pouring himself half a glass full when the Doctor suddenly appeared and laid a hand on his shoulder like some eerie ghost from a Victorian horror story. It made him jump right up.

"Oh Doc!" He sighed, while steadying his drink. "It's only you! God, you startled me."

"Did I." The Doctor said, sounding not too friendly, while observing the yellow muck that clung onto the captain from head to toe. "Where have you been?"

"I've been busy." Jack nodded, grinning widely. "Gigantic egg monster filled with gruesome gunk. It was terrorizing east London, feeding on alley cats and homeless people. Long story short: we tracked it down, found it, and blew it up."

"Of course, the usual standard Torchwood protocol of practice. In case it's alien, it got to be evil. Hence it should be destroyed." The Doctor stated coldly.

"It was our last option after we reached the conclusion that we couldn't reason with it." Said Jack, his grin was quickly disappearing from his face. "Besides, I only opened fire on it because it was threatening to eat Tochiko." He added to his defense.

"Did you." The Doctor replied with an icy expression on his face.

The captain took a good gulp of his drink. "Yeah, I did, Anyway, what's it to you?" He blurted out before he realized how stupid the remark actually was. He knew exactly what it meant to the Doctor. Still, he didn't want him to think badly about the Torchwood gang. "You're acting like I've just murdered a litter of helpless kittens with my bare hands. That thing was a menace for the people living in that area, and we did nothing wrong by killing it."

The Doctor came up closely to the captain, and took a loud sniff.

"What are you doing?" Jack asked. The Doctor's unusual and somewhat hostile behavior was making him feel uneasy.

"It's a Avisovum." The Doctor said in a matter of fact voice as he identified the peculiar scent. "Or it was an Avisovum. Not much of it left. It's a primitive alien life-form that does not develop pass the embryonic stage. They are like gigantic soft-shelled eggs on legs, and they feed on protein. It doesn't matter to them if that protein happens to be part of a life-form of higher intelligence or comes from a species of mould. They generally don't mean any harm."

"Really? It growled at me when I asked if it could be so kind to spit out my team-member."

"Dogs and cats also growl at people, but you don't go around blowing them up with sticks of dynamite. Honestly, you could have saved yourself the trouble and the stench by simply pointing your menacing monster the way to the tofu-section at Sainsbury's."

"Look, I don't know what your problem is Doctor. But we don't have the knowledge about these creatures that you have to solve it peacefully. You weren't around to advice us, hence the stench and the guilt that you are successfully talking into me right now. But we just wanted to help."

"Like you wanted to help me with the Master?"

Jack halted, a dirty feeling crept into his guts.

"What do you mean by that? Did you find out about the -"

"You said you were going to keep him safe." The Doctor said accusingly. He brought the bioconverter back into life with one touch of his sonic screwdriver. Bio-data danced over the monitor. Already converted back into the English language, it told the entire life of Marcellus Quintus, a Roman slave from Londinium.

"It reads like a novel, one of those tragic ones." The Doctor muttered.

Something was stuck in Jack's throat, he swallowed hard. The dirty feeling in his guts sank to his feet. He urgently wanted to explain everything to the good Doctor, and he searched for arguments that would justify his deeds. He found not even one that sounded solid enough to even convince himself. For the truth was that he had known this from the beginning. He had known that what he was doing to the Master was wrong, and that he was betraying the Doctor's trust from the moment that he typed the first words of Marcellus's wretched life into the machine. He had felt that growing pang of guilt when he walked away from Marcellus to be branded with the mark of his new, brutal master. He had wallowed in remorse when he found out that he could not fix the time transporter to get the Master back into the presence. So now that he was being finally found out by the Doctor, there wasn't really anything that he could say that could make it up to them both.

"I'm sorry." He finally muttered. "It was wrong. I can imagine that you loathe me for this." Jack recalled the stories that Martha had told him about the family of Blood, and how the Doctor had punished them for their cruelty. He also remembered how protective he was over the life of his fellow Timelord. If the Doctor wanted revenge, he wouldn't stop him from taking it.

"I just want to know where he is." The Doctor said, shaking his head and pointed on the screen. "I cannot find this information on the bioconverter. You didn't lock it into his memories. I need a date and a place."

Jack took a deep breath, realizing that he had to confess to the Doctor the worst part of his crime.

"I've – I've sold him. To a brothel in Rome." He watched with a growing sense of culpability and unease how the Doctor's eyes widened in response. " It's located in a side street of Via Nova, close to the Antonian Baths. The patron of the brothel is called Simon Asinaria. If you ask around in that area people will know. And the date - " He closed his eyes for a moment, not because it helped him to remember, but because he wanted to block out the Doctor's accusing stare. "The date was July the 12th, 54 AD."

"You sold him into a brothel?" The Doctor gasped. "How could you –" He swallowed hard, his voice was trembling. "This is horrible. Jack Harkness, I would have never thought in a million years that you were capable of such a heinous, vicious deed, but you have proven me wrong. I have been wrong."

"I just wanted to teach him lesson." Jack replied, weakly. "I didn't mean to dump him there for the rest of his life. It was only for a couple of days, but then the bloody time-transported went broke and I couldn't fix it. Believe me, I've tried."

"Didn't you realize that he was human? After the bioconverter did its work, it was no longer the Master who you were going to punish with this demented prank of yours. This Marcellus Quintus that you invented has turned into someone of flesh and blood. You've condemned an innocent man into a life of suffering, of imprisonment and humiliation!"

The Doctor bit on his lower lip. There was so much anger cooking inside of him right now, he was afraid that if he allowed it to surface completely, he would do something that he would live to regret.

So he grabbed his sonic screwdriver and aimed it at the captain.

Jack's hart skipped a beat.

"Doctor?" He managed to blurt out.

A powerful blue beam exploded from the tip of the alien device. It came close by the captain's head, incinerating the ends of his neck-hairs, and collided with the filing cabinet behind him. It blew open the upper draws, sending a whole flock of papers files flying, while Jack was forced face down to the floor by a hot wall of air that pushed into his back. Dark, burnt pieces of what was once an electronic device rained down on him. When he opened his eyes to look, he realized that it was from the time transporter that he had so painstakingly tried to restore.

The Doctor fired again, this time aiming at the bioconverter. The blue beam bathed it in a harsh unnatural light, and incinerated the device within seconds, leaving little but a pile of blackened ashes when it was finished.

After the dust had settled, Jack finally dared to crawl back up, brushing the dust and debris off his clothes. "Doctor?" He asked hesitantly.

The Doctor did not speak a single word to him, but turned around and left.

20.

Marcellus's life had become a string of continuous torments. After he recovered, Simon ordered Micranus to chain him up in the back alley as if he was a wretched dog, and left him there without clothes or shelter, even during the long cloudless November nights that were bitter cold. The men that came for his services were no longer educated, rich Roman citizens, but poor freemen and even slaves who paid little and took much of the battered young man. Particularly the slaves, who were abused by their cruel masters themselves, had such perverted and cruel minds that they could perhaps rival that of Marcellus's mad alter-ego. They took him harshly and shoddily, pinning his skinny frame to the wall till he opened his skin over the rough stones, and fucked him with their fists or empty wine bottles till he bled and screamed for mercy. They beat him till he lost consciousness when he failed to suck their cocks to their satisfaction. They cut in his arms and legs and urinated on him, while mocking that it would help to clean his wounds. Marcellus was slowly losing his sanity, the will to live tortured out of him by these sadistic men. The drums had returned, reaping the few hours of sleep that was allowed to him, filling his mind with fear and hatred for what he was being reduced into. The only hope that he had left was senator Cealus, and he wished with all his heart that he would soon return to the lupenare. The senator was the only one who could undo this terrible injustice that had happened to him, and his longing to see Cealus was the one thing that kept him from conceding to his cruel fate.

Days and weeks passed without any sign of his old friend, and little by little Marcellus started to lose his frail hopes. He feared that the noble man had just forgotten about him. For what could he be more than an insignificant bed-toy to someone as important and rich as the senator? But then one night, four weeks after was he brutality punished for the crime that he did not commit, a group of gladiators came by the lupenare. They were very drunk from celebrating in the nearby inn, and paid Simon too much in their intoxicated state. They were large and muscular men, with scars running all over their bodies in cross patterns that resembled the writings of some exotic script. They jested that Marcellus had enough scars at his back to be one of them if it wasn't for the fact that he looked like he could be blown over by the slightest breeze.  
They were not too unfriendly, and Marcellus let them do what they wanted with him. There was very little use in trying to resist. He simple had no strength left. They gave him a slight push with their feet, and he dropped on his knees and hands. He was gently nudged forward till he faced a wooden crate. One of them sat down there and planted his face in his lap. The man's cock, hard and ready, stuck out from underneath his tunic. Marcellus did not feel nor think, but let the degradation overcome him as he had so many times before. He opened his mouth and started to lick and suck the cock as he was taught to by his former clients. Another man mounted him from behind, and he felt how one cock was forced into his ass while the other filled his throat. The two men started thrusting into opposite directions. His beaten body took it all in, working as a shock absorber.  
He closed his eyes as the man above him began to grunt and moan, and the man behind him started to dig his fingernails into his buttocks. He finally swallowed the cum that spewed from the jerking member. The slippery liquid drowned his mouth before it slipped down into his throat.  
The man who he had orally serviced pulled out of him, only to be replaced by another man, who was already waiting with his cock hard in his hand.  
Marcellus did not need any more orders. As soon as the third gladiator sat down, he took the cock into his mouth and sucked it as a lamb would his mother's tits.  
The second man was still inside him, but his cock twitched and pulsed and Marcellus knew that he was close. He tensed his buttocks after the last thrust, and pushed himself back, building up the tension, fucking himself into the man's cock. His client grunted loudly, and ejected a flow of cum that filled his stomach with a warm, familiar feeling. The man then pulled out, leaving his ravished asshole dripping wet with semen. When the last man of the group mounted him, his ass was so slick that he barely noticed him entering. He went through all this emotionlessly and obliviously, his body reacting and acting on autopilot, his mind forcefully blocking out everything that was happening to him.

He only caught fragments of the conversation that went on between the men.

"Tiberius, come over here and drink with us!" Yelled one of them. "Don't just stand there nursing your limb cock. Let's celebrate!"

His friend went over to his comrade and seized the wine carafe. He poured down the drink into his gullet, and burped loudly.

"To the future emperor Nero's good fortune!" He raised his drink for a toast. "And to his divine, generous mother Agrippina!"

"May she summon us more often for her services!" Was the boisterous response of the other men. 

Marcellus recalled the senator mentioning those names to him the last time that they had met. He could not exactly remember what his friend had said about them, but it rang off alarm bells in his head nonetheless.

"Hey bum boy, snap out of it. Don't stop doing that thing that you were doing with that nimble tongue of yours." The gladiator who sat in front of him grabbed Marcellus's head and pushed his cock into deeper into the slave's mouth. Marcellus gagged, but managed to swallow the man's member deeper into his throat before continuing.

"And let us drink to senator Cealus Hortalus and his wealthy household for providing us little resistance and an abundance of loot!" roared the man who was banging the helpless slave at the moment.

"Little resistance?" Snorted one of his comrades in response. "Speak for yourself Adrianus! You only had to deal with his wife and his cute little daughter. I was the one who killed Cealus, and that old fart put up a hell of a fight. I can still feel the notches that his cane made in the back of my head. Hey, what did I tell you shitface! Don't stop. Keep on sucking!"

Marcellus froze. Did he really hear this man brag that he had killed senator Cealus?

"Hey! Cuntface! Didn't you get the message? What are you? A fucking retard?" The man barked.

"Dominus…" Marcellus looked up with hooded eyes, asking hesitantly with a voice that croaked of neglect. "Dominus, please forgive me for asking, but I beg of you, please, can you tell me what happened to senator Cealus Hortalus?"

First, the man was surprised that the seemingly docile slave dared to speak up to him, but the booze in his stomach made him more laid-back than he normally was, and he decide to humor the poor wretch. He smirked and pulled out a short knife from under his belt.

"If you so desperately need to know, I will tell you. Although I wouldn't know why it concerns you, unless the old goat was one of your regulars."

Marcellus must have looked flustered, for the gladiator noticed it and decided that they probably were indeed acquainted in such a way. The smirk on his lips widened into a malicious grin. He pointed the sharp end of the knife under the slave's chin.

"You did know him! You were fuck buddies, weren't you? Well, I don't think the old goat is going to pay you a visit anytime soon. The senator was so foolish to advise the emperor against the adoption of the empress's son. So wise lady Agrippina ordered us to eliminate him and his family. She paid us well for doing her this favor."

He showed him his knife. The blade was still crusted with dried blood.  
"You see this?" He said with a proud grin. "I used this to slash the senator's neck from ear to ear. He bled like a bloody pig."

Marcellus face went pale, a cold nauseous feeling spread form his stomach over his entire body. He felt the veins pulse violently in his neck.

"Stop pestering that bum boy Appius! He's going to shit himself, and I still got my dick stuck inside his asshole." 

The other men broke out in drunken laughter, while Appius just shrugged, and pushed his cock back inside Marcellus's mouth.

"Now you know what happened to that old pervert. Get back to work before I slip out with my knife and make an extra hole in that pretty cock sucking face of yours."

Something snapped inside Marcellus. The inertness that had wrapped his troubled mind in a false sense of safety had been ripped out of him. He realized that senator Cealus was gone. He lost the only friend that he had in this harsh, unfeeling world. There was nobody left to protect him from the cruel punishments he was forced to endure. It was a fate worse than death, a fate that the Doctor had condemned him to.

The pulse of his quickened heartbeat merged with the sound of drums that rose from his deepest sub-consciousness. He hated the Doctor for his ruthlessness, he despised the Master for having evoked such harsh retribution from the other Timelord, and he reviled the man in front of him who had murdered his dear friend.

Appius noticed the change that took place in the slave a little too late. He had just tucked back his knife under his belt and leaned back with his eyes closed when Marcellus bit down hard on the tip of Appius's cock. The gladiator screamed in agony, as the slave's mouth filled with warm blood gushing out of the flesh wound. It tasted sweet and satisfying to Marcellus, in a way he imagined revenge would taste if it had any kind of flavor. He tore off a scrap of soft, disgusting meat from the now blood drenched cock, spat it out on the ground, a drizzle of blood ran down the corner of his blood-red mouth. Appius kept howling, his hands searching desperately for his knife. He took it out from underneath his belt with sweaty, slippery fingers, and then dropped it in a crack between two wooden crates where it was completely out of reach.

"Help me you morons!" Appius managed to utter. "Get this madman away from me!"

But before the others could come close enough to do something for their unfortunate comrade, Marcellus jumped at Appius's thick neck, going for a spot what he hoped was somewhere near a vital artery. Bloodthirsty and crazed like a savage beast, he sank his teeth sank into the soft flesh of the gladiator till he once again tasted the sweet taste of blood.

He would have killed Appius, if it wasn't for Micranus, who had heard the screams and the turmoil coming from the back and had rushed outside to find Marcellus about to tear a hole in the client's mec. He ran over to the two men and knocked his elbow against the back of the slave's head.

The world suddenly faded in front of Marcellus's eyes. He sunk forward, the tangy taste of blood still lingered in his mouth while the drums thumped in his ears.

TBC 


	9. Chapter 9

21.

It was hard for anyone who wasn't a Timelord to understand the troubles and dangers that were associated with timetravel. Tinkering with time was as dangerous as playing with matches while tanking gas or flying a kite during lightening. The captain didn't know that he could not just fix the time transporter and hop back to the very moment that he sold the Master to Simon to undo his mistake. The technique wasn't an issue here, even if he had a brandnew timetransporter based on the most advanced alien technology, he wouldn't have been able to go back and interfere. Time itself would not have allowed him to chance anything, at least not without creating a paradox, and we all know down what road that was going. If the Doctor had not been that crossed with the good captain, he might have bothered to explain it to him, using his favorite comparison of time to a fast flowing river. It would have gone something like this: If someone dropped a stick into the stream it would get caught in the torrents and be swept downstream. If you wanted to retrieve it, you cannot just go back to the spot where the stick was dropped. You had to travel downstream and fish it out. It was the same with the Master, he had lived through a timestream that was now part of history. If Doctor wanted to rescue him, he needed to go where – or more accurately- when the Master had ended up so far. The problem was that this time-river was not flowing at a constant pace. At some parts, the currents were stronger, and time literally passed quicker than at other parts. The 1969 Woodstock festival for example, those three days in the summer of music and love lasted longer then the hundred year's war between France and England. In Jack's time, it was only a few months ago that he had stranded the Timelord in ancient Rome, but in ancient Rome, the Master had now been living as Marcellus for more than half a year. The Doctor preferred not to think of what could have happened to him during that time. He had immediately calibrated the Tardis to track down the Master, and if everything worked according to his plan, he would intercept his troubled fiend at the exact moment where his timeline had taken him. It was all very time-whimey, and perhaps it was a good thing that the Doctor had not tried to explain it to Jack. It would have probably taken him some precious minutes, which would have condemned the Master to suffer in his fragile human form for another couple of days.

The Doctor watched impatiently as the Tardis core huffed and puffed its existence into the first century AD. "Come on, come on." He muttered, his feet jogging on the spot. His hand was already on the handle of the police box door when the eerie green glow of the heart of Tardis dimmed. By the time the noise of the engine died out, he had slammed the door behind him and was rushing down via Nova into a direction, which he hoped was the right one. The problem was that he could not sense the Master's presence since he was no longer a Timelord, and the Tardis was no help in this last part of his quest as it had rubbish coordination resolutions when it came to tracking a moving object. He had to rely on captain Jack's description to find him. It was therefore only after a long half an hour of aimless running around that he found out that the Antonian baths were up north of the city, while he himself was heading south. He thanked the Roman citizen who had helped him with directions. The man only nodded and stared puzzledly after the strange looking foreigner as he dashed back into the crowd.

The city was a bloody maze. This was Rome well before the great fire for which emperor Nero would gain his infamy. Nero would later rebuild the city according to a cohesive and more rational plan, but for now many of the ancient primary structures dominated and complicated the flow of traffic. It was the city that had grown rather than it had been built on the seven hills crowding the Tiber. The streets were crooked, ran in every direction, and had so many twist and turns in them that it made the Doctor's head spin. He had ask for directions four more times before he found the Antonian baths, and it took him another odd look from a young slave girl and a shake of the head of an old vendor to get himself anywhere near Simon's establishment. He arrived at the busy crossroad, and in his ignorance, passed by the red bricked two storey high building that was Simon's lupenare. He crossed the street and grabbed hold of the very first pedestrian who bumped into him.

"Excuse me." The Doctor gasped, trying to refill his lungs with some much needed oxygen. "I was looking for someone who runs a lupenare named Simon Asinaria? Do you know where I can find him?"

The Roman eyed him from head to toe, interpreting his unusual style of clothing as something either rather eccentric or exotic. But since the man could not even find a brothel when he's standing in front of one, he assumed that the stranger was a foreigner, perhaps one of those barbaric tribes from the north visiting the capital. He did look awfully pale to him.

"You are looking for Simon's whorehouse?" He asked, better to be blunt than to waste effort on polite chitchat, which was of course totally wasted on these uneducated brutes.

"Ehm, yes." The Doctor answered. "Would you mind to lower your voice a bit?"

"The whore house is just right across the street." The man continued, pointing at it while shouting even louder. "You're smart to go to Simon's, he's got the best whores in Rome. Very pretty, very clean, and quite affordable."

Yes, ehm no. I mean, thank you, Thank you, I think I can find it now. Good day to you." The Doctor rambled. He quickly whirled around and almost stumbled over his own feet.

"Hey!" The man yelled after him. "Could you do me a favor and tell him Gaius Amatius sent you? He gives me discount for bringing him new customers!"

The Doctor rushed over to the red-bricked building, his two hearts were hopping in his chest like two delinquent rabbits.

22.

"I won't do this. You can't force me Micranus! You just can't!"

Livia crossed her arms over her bosom, her fiercely painted lips was a thin red line that ran across her face. She eyed at the costumer who was currently sitting in the chamber that was assigned to her. He was so drunk that he looked like he was about to pass out on the stone bed.

"Auw!" She yelped when Micranus took hold of her arm, pinching his thick fingers into her delicate flesh. "Let go of me! You can't just drag me in there! Stop it you dark brute!"

Micranus did not look impressed. "You've been requested by senator Ceacillius. He had already paid Simon for the entire night. You get in there now or I'll beat you and have him take you while you are unconscious." He tightened the grip on the girl's arm. "It's your choice."

"You stinking two-faced Moor! I can't go in there! He's diseased! You are going to kill me when you push me back in there with him! He's got puss blisters on his dick. That Greek girl, Galina serviced him a month ago and she died of fever within a week!"

"That's got nothing to do with the senator's condition." Macrinus hushed. "And stop yelling like that you dumb whore, he might hear you insulting him!"

"I can be as blunt as I bloody well like!" She hissed and spat in Macrinus face. The Moor wiped the spit out his eye, and raised his large hand to strike down on her.

"Oh you won't bloody dare!" Livia yelled. "Strike me once and I am going to tell everything to Simon! I bet he still wants to know where his precious money went, don't you think?"

Micranus lower his hand immediately. "You won't speak of it!" He whispered angrily. "Are you mad woman? You took half of the Denaries! If you tell him he will whip the flesh off your skinny bones!"

"Oh, but I don't think he's going to let you off he hook that easily either. I think he might sell you back to the salt mines, or worse, you'll become an exciting part of the entertainment in the arena!"

"You she-wolf!" Micranus hissed and slammed her back against the wall. "You vicious serpent! You keep your mouth shut about this or I will slit a knife over your thin little neck when you sleep!"

"Do it!" Her eyes burned with defiance. "You think I am going to live for very long after I catch that disease from him? I rather die knowing that you won't have any use of your part of the money! You wouldn't have gotten it in the first place if it wasn't for me. I was the one who told you that Marcellus was hiding something, remember?"

"Yes, but it was I who came up with the plan to rob Simon for all that he's worth. If it wasn't for me you would have just run off with the 15 Denaries."

"I am no better off with 70 Denaries if I end up dead within a month." Livia snorted. Her features suddenly softened. "Please Micranus." She begged with in a low voice. "I won't tell Simon anything, I swear. Give me a chance to get out of here alive. My brother is coming to collect me. I've written to him and he's traveling to the city to buy me my freedom. We are going to fool Simon by paying him with his own money. I'm finally going back to my family." A sad smile spread across her lips. "No more prostitution, no more drunk men, no more of any of this. I am going to start a new life. Please, I beg of you. Let me get away from this place."

Micranus sighed. He wasn't a softhearted man, but he understood what the woman was fighting for. He had his own stash of money, hidden safely under a loose tile in the kitchen floor. He was planning to desert his master in the coming winter months when the nights were long and the streets darkened to safe precious fuel for cooking and heating. He wanted to return to his homeland in the far East. It would be a dangerous journey, and he needed every Denary in his share of the fortune and a great deal of luck to get to his destination, but he believed deeply that the price of freedom was worth everything.

"What do you want me to do with the senator?" He finally asked. "He requested you specifically."

"Just send someone else in." Livia sighed, the color was quickly returning to her cheeks as she realized that she had convinced Micranus. "He's too drunk to notice the difference anyway."

Micranus peeked through the curtains to check. The senator was sleeping off his drinks on the stone bed. His nostrils trembled as he snored as loudly as a camel.

"I can wait till it's dark. He is certainly drunk, but I don't want to take any unnecessary risks." He considered his options for a while. "Who am I going to send in?"

"You can't send in any of the girls!" Livia answered hastily. She truly did not want her friends to suffer Galina's cruel fate in her place. "They probably already know about his condition anyway. They will try to resist."

"So what are you suggesting, you want me to drag a drunk off the streets or do you want me to go in there to service him?" Micranus stated sarcastically.

"You can't ask any of the girls." Livia pleaded. "I don't want their deaths on my conscience."

"Make up your mind Livia." Micranus snorted. "I have to take someone in there to please him!"

Livia did not know how to answer him. Anyone she mentioned was going to be placed in the hands of Pluto. She looked away from Micranus, forcing herself to make a decision. Her eyes gazed through the open back entrance and caught sight of Marcellus, who lay huddled in a pool of his own filth in the back alley, shivering with his back against the wall. The chains around his neck and feet were crusted with blood as he tugged on them continuously while he rocked his naked body back and forth. It left angry red wounds on his skin. Simon had punished him savagely after the incident with the gladiators. The slave hadn't spoken a word ever since. Most of the girls including Livia though that he had been hit too hard on the head and had finally lost his mind.

"You are fooling me." Micranus said, following the direction of her gaze. "Not him!"

"He's not going to last very long like that." Livia said, justifying her thoughts to Micranus and herself. "It's better to sacrifice Marcellus than to ruin the life of one of the other girls who still have a fighting chance."

"Didn't you do enough to the poor wretch?"

"The correct phrasing should be, didn't -we- do enough. He is not only the burden of -my- conscience, Micranus."

"The senator requested a girl."

"He asked for a blowjob and wanted to take me up my ass. I don't think the senator will be missing anything when he gets Marcellus." Livia responded with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

Micranus sighed and scratched over his bald scalp. "He's filthy, and he is mad."

"Yes, but he is not dangerous anymore, is he?"

"Not after what Simon ordered me to do to him." The Moor muttered.

"Oh come on. You can kick him in his goolies and still he will thank you for it if you order him to. He is as docile as a castrated dog."

"That's true." Micranus admitted pensively.

Livia came up close to the Moor. Her lips brushed his ear as she softly whispered to him. "No risks then, and no more blame. We have already condemned our souls for this the very moment that we got our hands on Simon's fortune."

That night, Micranus released Marcellus from his chains and took him inside the kitchen. In front of the warm fire he ordered the slave to wash himself. Marcellus reacted slowly, his hands trembling as he grabbed hold of the rag and dipped it into the pail lukewarm water. Micranus, shortly running out patience, took the rag out of the slave's hand, and started cleaning him himself. The Moor could not help but to feel pity for the wretched man as he noticed how he flinched away when the cloth touched his skin. It was the instinctive reaction of a frightened dog that had been beaten repeatedly by his master.

Micranus tended the slave's wounds. He disinfected them with wine and bound scraps of rags around the most horrific looking cuts and bruises. He even gave him a bowl of stew to eat. Marcellus took it greedily, but the bowl was hot while his fingers were still numb of the cold. The slave let out a sad cry when he dropped the bowl, and fell on his knees, trying to retrieve it in desperation. Micranus felt a pang of guilt when he saw him eating it hungrily from the dirty floor. He took the bowl, refilled it, and tapped the slave gently on his shoulder.

"Here, take this." He said. "Don't eat what you have spilled. If you want more, just ask."

He waited till the slave wolfed down three more bowls of hot stew before taking him back into the lupenare. It was dark inside, most of the clients had already left. Simon was up stairs, counting his earnings for today. Micranus quickly led Marcellus to Livia's chamber. He parted the curtains and gestured with his head for him to get inside.

Marcellus obeyed, and entered the small room. The senator was snoring peacefully on the stone bed. He was still fully clothed with the sandals dangling loosely from his feet.

"This is senator Ceacillius. You serve him for tonight and I let you may sleep in here. But don't make a sound or Simon will know that I have let you in, and you will be punished. I will collect you in the morning. Understood?"

Micranus thought hat Marcellus might have trouble to understand him, but the slave nodded slowly back at him. For the first time since weeks, he looked up at the Moor with something that might be described as a presence of mind.

"Thank you sir." Marcellus uttered. Although his voice was weak, he sounded truly grateful.

"Don't." Micranus said after an uncomfortable silence. "Don't thank me for this." He turned away and pulled back the curtain while cursing Livia under his breath.

TBC

Please do review this story, for it makes me write faster!


	10. Chapter 10

23.

The Doctor entered a room that was sparsely lid by oil lamps. An appalling odor penetrated his nose, a scent that he associated with clogged up chemical toilets found at overpopulated pop-concerts. When his eyes adjusted to the dim lights, he took in the erotic frescos on the wall and the colorful crowd that had gathered inside consisting of skimpily clad damsels and sweaty men. It didn't took him long to conclude that he was in the right place.

He found the patron of the establishment behind the counter talking to a man and a young girl. The man was counting out golden coin pieces that he took from a shabby looking purse made of sheepskin. He added them on the two neat stacks of coins piled up in front of him.

"Come on, lad." Simon said, beckoning with his finger. "Keep it coming. I don't have the entire night for you."

"You said you needed twenty gold pieces for my sister." The young man stated, sternly. "This is twenty, right there on the table."

"Twenty five." Simon said, laying his hands on the two stacks. He glared at the purse that the young man was holding, trying hard to take a peek inside. "It's not like you cannot afford it."

"You greedy Sicilian rat!" The young man hissed, but his sister quickly shook him on his arm and urged him to give her patron the rest of the requested money. The young man took a handful out of the bag and threw it out on the table. "There! Twenty and a handful. And I'm not going to give you any more! You may or may not be content with it, but I'm taking Livia home with me."

Simon grabbed the coins before they rolled off the counter. He held one up to the light, examining the glistering portrait of the late emperor Tiberius with a greedy but satisfied grin on his face.

"Yes yes, take her with you, if you must." He waived dismissively without so much as a glance at the two. "I had quite enough of that loud mouth and insolent manners of your sister. But don't come crawling back to me when this year's harvest turns out to be spoiled. I won't buy her back even if you paid me 30 Denaries!" He handed the scroll that described in legal terms the act of manumission over to Livia's brother. Before the young man could wrap his fingers around it, his sister had already snatched it out of her former master's hand. "Goodbye then Simon." Livia said, her voice trembled as she tried to keep her calm. "May you choke on a Denary and die."

"Ehm, excuse me for interrupting, but are you finished?" The Doctor squeezed himself between Livia and her former patron. The young girl shot him a nasty look, which he completely ignored. "Good. So, You must be Simon Asinaria. I was looking for a slave named Marcellus. He was sold to you half a year ago by an ehm acquaintance of mine." He didn't want to call Jack his friend after what he had done to him. "I want to buy him back. It was a mistake. He shouldn't have been sold to you in the first place."

Simon rolled his eyes. "What is it? National manumission day? And you, you cheap stinking whore, another word coming from that loud mouth of yours and I'm going to get Micranus to split those pretty lips wide open."

"I am not afraid of you! Not anymore! I am a freedwoman now!" She waived the scroll in front of his nose. "So why don't you act like a man for once and do your own dirty job! Come and get me if you have any balls!"

Simon's face turned red, he flew over the counter, throwing himself at Livia.

"Hey! Could you stop arguing here! I was looking for Marcellus. Now can you tell me where he is?" The Doctor interrupted, pushing the patron back behind his counter, but Simon was having none of this. "Get your filthy foreign hands off me!" He craned his neck to the backdoor. "Micranus!" He yelled. "Micranus! There is trouble! Get in here, now!"

A tall and muscular black man entered, ready to seize the Doctor with hands the size of coal shovels. "Now just a minute." The Doctor said, backing up as the Moor loomed over him dangerously, appearing as massive as a bloody mountain. "There is no need to resolve this with violence."

"I've enough of these province scumbags! Throw these jesters out of my brothel!" Simon ordered in a pissed off voice.

Micranus grabbed hold of the Doctor's arm and twisted it on his back, but the Doctor was quite flexible with his limbs. He reeled around and, seizing the Moor's wrists, managed to push him against the counter by slamming into him using his whole bodyweight.

"Now look." The Doctor yelled. "I don't want to cause any trouble. I just need to find a friend of mine."

It could have been a coincidence. It could also have been fate, the hand of lady Fortuna who had finally taking pity on Marcellus. For a short moment, the Doctor took his eyes off the Moor and his furious master, and caught sight of the narrow alley way through the open back entrance. Above a dark, vile looking stain, someone had left his writings on the wall.

The Doctor rushed outside. Both his hearts seemed to stand still for a moment before they started beating again in a pace that was alarming even for Timelord's standards. Carved out in the stones, just below an iron bolt that held a set of rusty chains, was a message left by the human Master that reflected his poor state of mind.

-The Doctor condemned me to hell- It said, and although the Timelord could no longer sense the Master's presence, he knew that each word was carved out in fear and deep felt loathing.

24.

The grass Marcellus walked on tickled underneath his feet and he giggled, his throat making a small noise that he imagined a mouse would make. He threw his head back, the world swirling at dangerous speed in front of his eyes making him feel sick, but he wanted to see the stars. There they were, brilliant as he had imagined, scattered like a sea of diamonds. The light they cast was cool and sharp, cutting through his fever that made him burn up like a blackened block of cinder, or suffer from a cold that slivered down his spine like a river made of ice. He clung onto the rag that he was given by Micranus, wrapping it around his weakened body tightly for more comfort. He wished he could just disappear in it by making himself smaller and smaller, till he was as tiny as a mouse.

Soon after he fell ill, Simon threw him out of the lupenare. He was left in the streets without food or shelter, and was expected to die somewhere out of sight of any potential costumers and health inspectors that stalked the brothels. But like a bird that had spend most of its life in a cage and had grown accustomed to view the world outside through iron bars, Marcellus had became inert, and did not know where to go or how to take care of himself. For the first few days, he lay huddled in the gutter right in front of the lupenare, suffering from cold and neglect while the disease weakened him to a state till he could barely crawl on his hands and knees. He would have perished there and then if it wasn't for Micranus. The Moor had been pestered by his conscience, something he didn't even believed he had before he had put Marcellus in this horrible situation. Now his eyes seemed to be constantly open for the abandoned slave's misery. On the third night when it became exceptionally cold, he came to his rescue by bringing him food and an old horse blanket, which he took gratefully, wrapping it around his bare body till it was as tight as a cocoon. The fabric was coarse, scraping painfully against his aching skin, and it didn't help him in getting warm since his own body was like a lump of ice, but it gave him a sense of safety and restored some of his dignity.

"You have to leave." Micranus said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "If you stay here, Simon is going to report you as a runaway to the soldiers to have you removed."

"I can hardly walk. I'm too ill." Marcellus whispered with much effort. "I don't have anywhere to go."

Micranus shook his head. "You must. They execute runaway slaves in the arena. You have to get out of the city." He took his arm, threw it over his shoulder and lifted Marcellus up from the cold ground. "I'll help you. Let me get you at least out of Simon's sight. There, across the street." He nodded with his head. "There is a small abandoned shed in that alleyway. You can hide in there for a while till you have regained your strength. Don't give up on yourself just yet Marcellus. You may not exactly be a freedman, but you are no longer a slave either. That must be worth something, even to you."

So Marcellus lay for a long while in the abandoned wooden hut, sheltered and cared for by the Moor. He slept through the days and woke in the nights when Micranus bought him hot soup and bread. He ate only very little as his stomach would simply refuse to take in more. Often, he woke up in pitch-black darkness, frightened by the sounds and shrilly cries coming from the streets outside. He would then lie very still on his back while he listened to the drums that assaulted his mind. They were like waves that grind away the rocks at coast till there was nothing left of them but small insignificant grains of sand.

It was in such a moment when it came to him like a dream, although he was aware that he wasn't asleep. He still was dazed by his recent oblivion, caught in the short interval between sleeping and waking. A voice, his own voice, spoke to him, whispering softly into his ears.

'You can't stay here."

At first he was confused. He wasn't sure that he was not saying it aloud to himself, knowing that he was still feverish, and might be hallucinating. The voice repeated the message again and again. Marcellus pressed his palm on his mouth, making sure that the words did not part from his own lips. He kept very quiet and listened. For a moment, he did not hear anything except for his own breathing, and was almost convinced that he had been rambling in his poor state when the voice returned, louder this time. It was even louder and clearer than the drums.

"You can't stay here and wait for death to knock on the door."

"Who said that?" He spoke, frightened. He peered into the darkness. Only the familiar shades of the mess that was stored inside the shed could be distinguished. He repeated his question. This time, the silence that followed lasted only a heartbeat.

"I am a friend."

"Show yourself." Marcellus demanded, rather unconvincingly.

"I'm not here. You have to come and find me."

"Where? I can't go outside."

"Well you can't stay here."

I'm going mad. Marcellus thought, I'm rambling, I'm having an argument with a decapitated voice in an out-of-use chicken-shed. And still. Still, this is so much better than to lay here by my own and listen passively to that viscous drumming that torments me day and night.

"If you dislike this bloody stinking chicken-shed so much, why not get on your feet and leave?"

It didn't come as a shock to Marcellus that his invisible friend knew what was going on in his head. Even in insanity, he reasoned, must there be some kind of logic.

"I can't. I don't dare." He answered sincerely. The truth was that he had started to regard this small wooden box as his own grave. He had buried himself in self-pity, and locked himself away again from the world because he secretly believed that to die of illness was better than a life of fear and destitution. Although some of his physical strength had returned to him by Micranus's good care, his mind had only prepared him for eminent death and eternal oblivion.

"Are you sure you want to die Marcellus?"

In the darkness, spread out in front of him, lay shards of broken pottery and pieces of glass from bottles. There was also a heavy chunk of wood with a sharp rusty nail sticking out of one side. A long sturdy looking rope dangled from the ceiling.

"There are plenty of opportunities, but no efforts so far."

The broken off iron handle of a shovel that lingered in a forgotten corner. His own rags, cut to pieces and knotted into a string of fabric to be wrapped around his neck.

"It's not the lack of imagination that keeps you from slitting –"

Trembling fingers. The shard of pottery slitting open his veins. Drops of his blood trickling on the fabric of his dirty rags.

- and cutting."

The rope tightening around his neck, cutting into his flesh as he struggled. The fire burning in his lungs and his legs dangling in the air, throwing macabre shadows on the wall.

"Stop it!" Marcellus yelled. The images forced into his head terrified him. "Stop it! Please!"

"I guess death doesn't seem that comfortable after all." The voice remarked. There was meanness in the way it spoke, in the way that it appeared to relish in the hurt of others. Marcellus could have never spoken like that. It was his voice, but not his mind.

"I know you Marcellus, better than you could ever perhaps know yourself. Let you stand on narrow ledge of a cliff, a thousand feet above a dangerous ocean and a bed of sharp rocks beneath, and you will hold on for dear life. You'll keep standing on that little square of grass and crumbling stones for eternity if you must. Everything is better than to die at once. To seize existing-"

His body buried in the ground, fungus eating away the rags he was wrapped in, penetrating his cold flesh, fat maggots tunneling through his cheeks, the skin on his skull shrinking till it became dry and brittle, his eyes rotting away till there was nothing left but gaping holes staring into the dark void for eternity.

"-Is more terrifying than anything you can imagine."

"Stop it now. Please." Marcellus wept, he had pushed the palms of his hands onto his eyes so forcefully that it hurt, but the images wouldn't stop coming flooding into his head. "Stop it. I'll do anything you say. Stop showing me this. Please."

"Anything?"

"Anything! Just let it stop! LET IT STOP!"

And suddenly it did stop. His mind became clear, as if all the filth that he had seen had been washed out at once. Even the drums declined into a soft beat that sounded far away in the distance. Marcellus gasped in relief, his face was wet with the last of his tears.

"I want you to leave. Tonight, when the streets are dark. Get out of the city." The voice demanded.

"But I don't know the way." Marcellus said, hesitantly, afraid it might evoke the invisible fiend.

"Follow the drums. It will guide you to your destination."

"Where am I going to?"

It could have been Marcellus imagination, for there was no way that he could have known, but he was almost sure that the person who spoke to him was grinning mischievously when he answered this question.

"That, Marcellus, is a surprise."

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

25.

The Doctor stared silently at the words carved out in the wall. He had fallen victim to a fit of elaborate hair yanking, and looked possibly even more eccentric to the flabbergasted Romans than he already did before.

"Where is he!" He screamed, whirling around to face an anxious brothel holder and his surprised servant. "What have you done to Marcellus! Speak up!"

Simon pushed his servant forward, hiding behind the Moor's huge bulk like a fearful weasel. "Come on Micranus, get rid of this lunatic!" He sneered.

It could have been the crazed look in the Doctor's stare, the whiteness that rimmed the pupils, or the huge bulging eyes with the rubbery, overactive eyebrows, that convinced Micranus to not immediately settle this in the familiar ways.

"What's he to you?" The Moor asked, much to the dissatisfaction of his master.

"What do you mean?" The Doctor inquired, cocking an eyebrow.

"Is he family, a brother? Or a friend?" From the look of him Micranus suspected that they were indeed related, another cuckoo that had dropped out of the same nest with crazy eggs.

"He's a friend." The Doctor answered, he seemed to have calmed down a little, but that was only on the surface. "Well, actually, he's not really a friend. Considering he doesn't really like me that much. And I'm not too fond of what he does and how he is." The Doctor furrows his brows. "And he does try to kill me quite often." He paused for a moment, before adding in one breath. "But he's all that I've got left."

Despite the lack of cohesiveness in the Doctor's answer, Micranus somehow understood.

"He's the last of your tribe."

The Doctor blinked his eyes, surprised by the Moor's unexpected clairvoyance.

"Yes. He is. It's just the two of us. No-one else is left."

Micranus nodded. "I'm also the last of my tribe. I can understand how you feel."

"What are you talking to him for? Just hit him!" Simon screamed at his servant, being determined that this barbarian was nothing but trouble. But then commotions coming from inside the brothel distracted his attention away from the Doctor. Livia's brother was busy sweeping up a pile of coins from the counter while his sister was holding open the purse for him to collect the small treasure.

"You screwed little trollop! You thieves! Get your hands off my money!" The furious patron rushed back inside. "Micranus! Quick! Stop them! Don't let them get away!"

Macrinus was about to turn around and follow his master, but the Doctor stopped him in his tracks.

"Wait! You know something! Tell me where I can find him!"

Micranus looked the Doctor in the eyes for moment, only to cast them down quickly again.

"You better go back to your homeland. Don't waste your time here any longer."

"What? Why? Did something happen to him?" A God-awful feeling of hopelessness sank into his stomach. "You know what happened here. Tell me!"

"Micranus! Get in here now or I'll get you flogged!" Simon ordered.

"I'm sorry." The Moor pushed the Doctor aside.

"No, I'm sorry. But I must know." The Doctor flung himself on Micranus back, holding onto to him while he spun around wildly like a mad bull trying to get rid of his assaulter. "What in Jupiter's name are you doing!" The Moor screamed, being more surprised than anything else. The Doctor put his hands on the man's shaven head and closed his eyes as he rushed into Micranus's mind.

The human mind is not an impenetrable thing for a Timelord, and the Doctor had been linked to other humans before in order to extract information. But most of the times, the people whose minds he accessed had more or less volunteered, and had been warmed in advance by the Doctor before the process was initiated. Micranus's mind was in shock by the violent intrusion, and all around the Doctor's presence, doors to different areas of his recollections was being slammed shut instinctively. But the Doctor's mind was much, much faster. He searched amongst the stored memories, raced through a lifetime of them with the speed of light, and found hidden in one of the deepest, darkest corner of Micranus's mind the ones that were connected to the Master. He kicked the door to this grim cellar wide open, and let the information stream into his head.

What he saw and what he came to know broke his hearts.

He held in his hand a blackened branding iron, glowing orange at the tip. He pressed the hot mark onto Marcellus's skin. The sickening smell of burnt flesh filled his nostrils. The screams coming from his victim echoed in his ears.

The Master, twitching his body uncontrollably in pain, dangling from the chains, staring up at him with fear in his eyes. In his hand the Doctor now held a horse whip, crusted with blood. The Master, he begged him to stop as he approached. He cracked the whip on his ruined back, and only stopped till Simon order him to.

He had chained him up like a dog in the back alley. Cold and starving, Marcellus threw himself at his feet, begging for food. Just a crust of bread or a warm bowl of watery soup. Please. Anything. He kicked him aside viciously and ignored his pleads. In the night, when everyone else was fast asleep, he heard him cry softly of the cold and the shock. He turned on his straw bed, away from the sounds, and managed to find some sleep.

Simon had ordered him to punish the slave for what he had done to his clients. The Master was looking up at him again, but this time there was no hope left in his eyes. He knew he would not receive mercy from anyone. In front of a crowd of drunken customers and frightened slave girls, he was bound and flogged till his skin was open and raw. The men took him afterwards, savagely, while the others watched and ridiculed. He stood back in the shadows, and did nothing while he saw how the abuse, pain and degradation finally stole the last trace of sanity away from the Master.

"No no no no no! No more! No more of this!" The Doctor let go of Micranus, stepping away from him as he clutched onto his temples. "Oh, Master, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He collapsed against the wall, and sank through his knees. "It's all my fault. This should have never happened to you!" He pressed his hands against his eyes, holding back the tears.

Micranus was still in a state of shock. "You've- You have been inside my mind!"

The Doctor did not answer him. He was still caught in a grief that was all consuming, freezing every fiber of his being into a state of horror and mourning. He questioned himself how he could bear this. How could he bear all this guilt and not go mad.

"What you have done is not possible for any normal man. It's voodoo! Black magic and sorcery!" Micranus stepped away from him, his eyes white-rimmed in fear.

"What are you? A demon of the north? Some kind of vengeful God?"

When the Doctor opened his eyes, a tear slid down his cheek. He slowly rose up again. There was a great anger, dangerous and violent, swelling inside that would have torn a hole in the universe, taking the earth down into destruction with him if he had allowed it to take control.

"Is that what you fear?" The Doctor asked, his eyes turned cold and vicious. "Is that what would have stopped you from doing those horrific things to him?! A VENGEFULL GOD?"

Micranus, caught in paralyzing fear, fell on his knees in front of the Doctor.

"Simon forced me! I didn't want to hurt him! I swear on the Roman Gods! I felt guilty about it, so I helped him! I helped him to get away!"

"You did what?"

"I tried to save him! I tried! Honestly! Don't punish me! Don't curse me oh great white God from the North! I didn't know he was from your tribe!"

"You saved him? Really? So he's not dead?" A smile of relief beamed from the Doctor's face. "Tell me where he is then!"

"Don't turn me into a dog! I can't stand dogs, please!"

"Alright, alright! I promise I won't turn you into a barking fleabag!" The Doctor crouched down and stared Marcellus directly into his eyes. "Now tell me where he is!"

26.

The stars were still visible in the night's sky when he opened his eyes again. They were winking at him with their cool light. He blinked, and swallowed with difficulty, his throat felt dryer than the plains of Spain.

I must have passed out, he pondered, I don't remember lying down and falling asleep. He crawled back up with much effort, wrapping the horse blanket tightly over his shoulders. The shivers were becoming so much worse now that the cold had returned, clocking in after the fever had left him drenched in sweat. He felt like an old man, staggering blindly down the road in the pitch-black night, being summoned by death from his sleep. He had followed the sound of the drums, up to the road that ran out of the city and went south into the direction of Neapolis. He passed gravestones and tombs, and a large monstrous tree with its branches heavy with a family of ravens. They cowed maliciously at him, turning their heads to see who had disturbed them from their dreams.

The necropolis. Why was he being led into the necropolis? He turned around, taking in his surroundings anxiously. The lime stone monuments around him shimmered in the moonlight like white skeletal bones that stuck out of the cold ground. Was this his destination? Was death the only thing that awaited him then? He stopped in his tracks. How daft can you be Marcellus? He thought to himself, grinning sadly at his own foolishness. What can possibly be the aim otherwise? You are surrounded by the relics of the dead. There is nothing else here. I wouldn't be surprised if you would happen to stumble and fall into a freshly dug, unoccupied grave with your name on it.

"And you're hardly getting any better." He muttered softly to himself. "Really, what hope is there to make you think that you will make it?"

But his mind was not at ease. It seemed such a waste, for to what purpose were then his efforts? Why threaten and frighten him only to send him all the way here with no other purpose but to die?

"Why did you order me to follow the drums?" He finally dared to ask. His own voice now sounded strange to his ears, weak and broken. He had grown accustomed to the other voice that spoke to him in his head, a voice that sounded so very confident and strong.

No answer came. He held his breath and waited, but the necropolis remained peaceful and quiet. There was not even the sound of the birds bickering in the old tree or the leaves rustling in the wind. Even the drums had stopped.

He perched his ears, why did it stop? Panic swelled inside him. Where was he supposed to go now? Without the drums, he did not know the way.

"Where are the drums? You asked me to follow the drums! Where are they?" He cupped his hands behind is ears, nothing. Only the sound of his breathing that became shallow and fast. "You can't just abandon me! Why did you bring me here? Speak to me!" He yelled with a trembling voice. "SPEAK DAMMIT!"

The ravens in the tree left their branches, and jumped into the air in fright, quarrelling loudly in dissent.

In front of him appeared a light, dimly at first, but quickly strengthening in brightness. He stumbled into its direction. Like a moth attracted to a flame, he thought cynically. When he came closer he realized that the lights were from a huge tomb, its entrance adorned by marble pillars and statues of the Goddess Vesta, the protector of home and family. The fires burning in copper dishes hanging from silver hooks cast an eerie shadow on the huge marble slates. The inscription above the entrance porch stated the name of the family that was buried here.

This is the resting place of the honorable family of senator Cealus Hortalus, noble citizen and protector of Rome. May they find justice in the way of the Gods.

"Senator Cealus. Good to see you again my dear friend." Marcellus whispered. "May the Gods indeed grant you the justice that had eluded you during life."

He stood there in front of the good senator's grave in silence, sadness and desperation filled his mind with bleak thoughts.

"Marcellus, is that you?"

Marcellus who was astonished to hear that familiar voice again gazed up the steps of the mausoleum. He found senator Cealus standing in the door opening, leaning on his trusted cane. From inside the tomb came joyful music and the busy chatter of a crowd. The senator smiled, and made his way down the steps.

"Marcellus! I knew it! You've made it!" He gave him a hug and put his arm over his shoulder. "Oh my dear friend, you're cold like a mackerel on dry land! Quick, let's get inside and warm you up with a hot drink!" He shook him merrily. "And put some food in your stomach as well. You look like a famished dog!"

"You're alive!" Marcellus muttered, unable to stop staring at the senator in disbelief. "How can this be? Those men, they told me that they have killed you and your family!"

"Don't speak so loud about this." The senator hushed, visibly uncomfortable. "My wife and my daughter are inside, keeping the company to the other guests. I don't wish to alarm them."

He guided the stunned young man through the entrance and into a large atrium. The walls were adorned by beautiful frescos in vibrant colors. In the center was a small impluvium with a statue of a dancing faun. They passed through the reception room where wealthy guests lay down on long comfortable sofas. They gorged themselves on the elaborate meal that lay spread out in front of them. The dishes looked exquisite and bizarre; lark tongues in honey, mice stuffed with olives, black mushrooms piled up high in pyramids drenched in punchent anchovies sauce, and something that looked like a whole swan roasted on the spit. The smell of all this cooked food alone made Marcellus's poor stomach turn. Luckily for him, they didn't stall and ventured further into a long corridor of pillars that took them to the secluded back garden, where most of the guests had gathered. All were in high spirits, with the wine flowing freely and a band of musicians playing gaily on their instruments. A small army of servants tended the guests, bringing out large plates from the kitchen with all sorts of fruit, fish and meat. Marcellus stared at all this in amazement, clutching onto the senator as they made their way to a quiet little corner of the garden.

"Something the matter my boy?" The senator asked, noticing the awestruck expression on the young man's face.

" Ehm, no. It's just- It's bigger isn't it? This –" He wanted to say tomb, but quickly

corrected himself. "This building. I looked so much smaller from the outside."

"And that surprises you?"

"Actually, no." Marcellus answered, furrowing his brows. When he really let the idea sink in, the lack of logic to this observation somehow didn't strike him as odd at all.

"Thought so. Let me get you a drink then before you go mingle with the other guests."

"Should I really be here sir?" Marcellus asked, suddenly being shamefully aware of what he must look like to the others. He was bare footed, dressed in nothing but rags and was covered in filth. "Don't be insulted dominus, I'm glad to see you again, I really am, but maybe you should keep me out of sight. I should go to the kitchens or any other place where I won't bother your important guests."

"But you are the guest of honor Marcellus! Who told you that these pompous scumbags were of any importance? They were only invited because of you, and I don't give a vermin's excrement about what they think and neither should you." He took a carafe of wine from a passing servant. "Your outfit looks fine by the way, don't worry."

"This isn't right." Marcellus muttered. And then he saw it, half-hidden by the folds of his toga that came up unusually high to his chin, the thin red slash that ran across the senator's neck.

"No, no no, this isn't right at all." He stumbled backwards, knocked a plate with grapes from the table, and bumped into a large rectangle construction that stood in the middle of the garden. He accidentally put his hand on it to steady himself. The crowd and the senator vanished in front of his eyes, and he saw the inside of a tomb, grim and hostile. Urns that contained the ashes of the dead sat in the dark niches that lined the marble walls. The rectangle box he had stumbled into was a sarcophagus, the marble slate on top was engraved with the name of the senator and his family members.

"This isn't real." Marcellus rambled fearfully to himself. "The house and the garden. It was a hallucination." He threw his head back and stared up to the ceiling. "I'm inside a tomb."

"My poor confused boy, do you prefer it to be a tomb?" The senator's voice spoke to him in the darkness. "Do you want to be in a place where it is cold, and dark, and where your only friend in this world is dead and buried?"

He felt how the cold once again penetrated his flesh and spread through his veins, turning them into rivers of ice. How the old wounds that covered his body throbbed sorely, while the familiar dull aches returned to his bones. In front of his eyes, he saw how the darkness, the all-consuming darkness, was closing in on him.

"Would you prefer to be left alone?"

"No, no I don't!" There was panic in his voice. "Please, don't leave me here all by my own!"

A ghostly hand appeared out of the gloom, beckoning him. "Come, get up Marcellus. Take my hand."

He took the hand. As he tightened his grip on it, it occurred to him that it felt as cold as stone. He was pulled back to his feet. The world changed again in front of his eyes, the garden reappeared, followed by the crowd and the musicians, the smell of cooked food and the gentle music in his ears.

The senator tapped him gently on his shoulders. "Don't be afraid. You're safe here with me. Now, I remember promising you a drink." He poured a mug full and placed it into Marcellus trembling hands. "Drink this son, it will warm you right up." Marcellus took a sip. The sugary taste of the spiced wine was very pleasant and comforting.

"Feel better?"

Marcellus nodded thankfully.

"Sometimes it's better to be fooled than to dwell in the grimness of reality." The senator said with a touch of sadness in his voice. He guided the young man to a row of seats next to a small fountain. "Now, don't worry any longer, sit down and talk to me my dear boy." He grabbed a plate, filed it to the rim with cold cuts, bread and fruits, and handed it to Marcellus. "Tell me what happened to you since the last time that we've met. I think we are still granted some more time together."

They sat together for a long time, and Marcellus spoke about the unfortunate things that happened to him, hesitantly at first, but slowly gaining confidence in his voice, while the senator listened quietly. He told the senator about the missing Denaries, stolen from Simon's moneybox, how his own savings were confiscated and how he was framed for the crime and had to pay for it dearly. He told him about the encounter with the senator's murderers, and his illness that had been a mixed blessing since it was the source of his expulsion from Simon's brothel. The older man's face grew grim as he realized how much his young friend must have suffered, although Marcellus took great care to leave out the most horrible details of the hardship he had endured. He didn't want to upset his dear friend too much.

After he finished his tale both men remained silent for a while. Marcellus cast his eyes down, anxious and ashamed, till the good senator took his hand and squeezed it gently. He did not say anything to him, but the reassuring look in his eyes told the young man enough.

"So." Marcellus spoke, finally breaking the silence after he had been offered another warm cup of spiced wine. "What is going to happen now, can I stay here with you sir?" He drank from his cup, staring bleakly at the wound in the senator's neck. "Tell me sir, and please, I prefer you to be blunt than you to be dishonest with me. Am I dead?"

"No Marcellus. You are not dead. And if the Gods have still a sense of justice left in them, you should not meet Pluto in his dark dominion until you are an old man." He folded his hands over the handle of his cane. "But it is not the wish of the Gods for you to stay here either. Fate has something else for you in store."

A little girl in a blue dress rushed out of the crowd, and hid herself underneath the folds of the senator's toga.

"My dear Marca!" The senator exclaimed, cocking an eyebrow. "Sweet honey blossom of mine, what are you doing down there?"

The little girl put a finger on her lips. "Sst! I'm playing hide and seek with Lucius and the others, father. He's out there looking for me."

"Is this your daughter sir?" Marcellus asked, looking affectionately at the girl.

"Yes, my sweet Marca, she is the only good thing that came out of the union of me and my wife. A beautiful little treasure she is. Come out of there my darling. There must be a better spot to hide."

The girl came out of her hiding place. "But this is the best place, father! He's never going to look here. He doesn't dare." She gazed up and saw the man standing next to her father. Her pretty features suddenly turned puzzled.

"Salve." Marcellus said in a friendly voice. "My name is Marcellus. Your father is a good friend of mine. You are Marca, right? Nice to meet you."

Marca didn't respond, but kept staring at him with huge, questioning eyes.

"She is a bit shy." The senator apologized. "Marca dear, go find your mother. Father needs to talk to Marcellus here. Grown-up talk and all pretty boring I'm afraid."

The girl turned her head to her father, and for the first time since she came looking for them, Marcellus noticed the dark damp patch in her curly hair. Strings of it were glued to her scalp with the blood that had gushed out of her head wound. The neckline of her blue dress underneath the spot was stained a dark crimson.

"Father." She asked. Her voice was so sweet and innocent. The realization that this beautiful young girl would never grow up to become a beautiful woman saddened Marcellus's heart. "Father, why does Marcellus look so much like your other friend?"

"Ssst, now run along." The senator hushed, and gently pushed his daughter away from Marcellus. "Go to your mother. Don't delay."

"Why did she look at me like that?" Marcellus asked anxiously after they had waited till little Marca had once again disappeared in the crowd.

"Nothing. She was just playing. Children, you know how they are, all blessed with overactive minds."

Marcellus shook his head. "She said that I looked like someone. Someone you know."

"Marcellus, calm down."

"Dominus, please, tell me what's going on. I've lost it! I don't know why I came here. I don't even know if you are a ghost or an invention of my ailing mind. Did you guide me here with the voice and the drums or was it someone else?"

"I'm afraid I have nothing to do with that." The senator said after a silence.

"But if it's not you, who is it then? Who spoke to me? Who guided me to you?"

"Oh Marcellus. I do not dare to speak his name." The senator met Marcellus's eyes. The ugly grip of fear was visible on his face. "But you know him. You know who he is."

The drums returned, the sound was waxing, like the waves of the ocean during high tide, bashing onto the shore. The garden seemed to fade away. The gentle music from the musician's instruments played no longer, and even the sweet taste of the wine was forgotten, as it turned into vile acid on his tongue.

That voice that had spoken to him. Didn't it sound familiar? Didn't he hear it every night in his own nightmares?

He took his gaze off the senator and turned around. The drums. He must follow the drums. He staggered through the crowd, his legs shaking with each step he took.

He knew his name. It was spoken so many times by all of his victims that it was drenched in blood. His name meant death, and rage, and terror. And power. Oh, so much power, it could turn a good man mad.

The drums led him to a door at the back of the garden. He pushed it open and stepped inside.

The small room was dark, with little to no furniture except for a red velvet sofa in the middle. He saw a man, dressed in a satin striped shirt and black pleat trousers, wearing calf leather shoes that shone like mirrors. He reclined on the sofa like a cat in slumber, while a skimpily clad slave girl was massaging his neck.

"Ah, there you are." He opened his eyes and gave Marcellus a sly smile. "What took you so long? I was starting to get bored. Luckily, I got Alena here to keep me company. That girl has the most nimble little fingers. You should try her. She gets the stress right off my back."

"This can't be real." Marcellus said, ruffling through his hair. "You can't be real."

"Oh, I am afraid so." He grinned, dismissing the slave girl and getting up from the sofa. "Do you really think you can survive for very long without me, Marcellus?"

Marcellus spun around and rushed towards the door.

"Oh no, you don't!" He shouted, and the doors slammed shut in front of Marcellus's face.

"Help! Senator Cealus! Get me out of here! Please! Anyone!" Marcellus begged, frightened to death. He banged his fists on the door. "I'm locked up in here with a

murderer! A dangerous madman! Please get me out! I beg of you!"

The Master observed him, shaking his head in disgust. "God you are pathetic! Captain Sadistic had a real field day when he created you."

"Please, don't hurt me sir. Please."

"Oh, please, don't hurt me, please." He mouthed, mockingly. "Oh why would I want to hurt you, you dimwit? I enjoy many things but stabbing myself continuously with a knife doesn't exactly rank high on my list of favorite pastimes." The Master stalked around Marcellus who was reduced to a pile of shivering misery at his feet. He rubbed his chin and gazed at this mirror image of himself, this shabby, weak looking human, this pathetic wretch with deep sunken eyes and a mind so ignorant and messed up that it could have been retrieved from the gutter. He looked at what Jack and the Doctor (for it was undeniably HIS fault for ruining his marvelous plans of world domination and taking him prisoner in the first place) had reduced him into and decided that the next time he was on top of things, he would have both their guts pulled out and arranged as garlands, just for a laugh.

But first things first, of course.

He crouched down beside Marcellus. His delicate nose picked up a stench that made his eyes water and his sense of smell commit suicide. He quickly pulled a lavender scented handkerchief from his breast pocket and pressed it against his nostrils.

"Can you stop blubbering already? Once again, I promise not to kill you. There, happy now? Now can we have a civilized little chat?"

"What do you want from me?"

"What do I want from you? Interesting question. Hm, now let me see. Where shall I begin? Oh wait. I know. How about you giving me back my body and seizing to exist? How does that sound?"

"But you promised you wouldn't kill me!"

"Sounds a bit harsh I guess." The Master said, observing with growing distaste how Marcellus was getting close to tears. "Calm down Smeagol. I said I would like to. It doesn't mean I get to do whatever I like in here, which is a bloody shame really. The sad truth is that I need you. We need each other to survive this."

"What do you mean? What are you? Are you a figment of my imagination? Are you a ghost?"

"My dear Marcellus." He purred, pouting his lips. "I do hope it won't come as a shock to you, but surely you must have realized by now that those nightmares that you've been having are real. They really happened. I -, I mean you and I, which means we, I guess." The Master grimaced at the very repulsive idea, but managed to keep going without gagging. "We, were the Master. Don't you remember? We hijacked the Tardis, we created the paradox machine, and armed the Toclefanes. We defeated the Doctor, imprisoned him by turning him into a wrinkled old prune. We enslaved the entire human race and engaged war against the rest of universe. We, my dear Marcellus, were absolutely magnificent." He beamed a vain smile at Marcellus. Surely this must impress the gullible lunatic. "Up until the Doctor was turned back into his old holier-than-thou self by that pesky human companion of his, that Martha Jones." He spat out the name as if it was poison. "She ruined everything. All my glorious plans, my vision of a Timelord empire that would last a thousand years, my dream of a new and perfect Galifrey that would once again adorn the sky. All that destroyed by the Doctor and his flock of degenerative biped monkeys. And afterwards, after all my hard work was undone, the Doctor put us through the deepest, cruelest of humiliations. He built a dishwasher of a machine that rewrote our biology, turning us into the very creatures that he knew we loathed most. He turned us human. He turned me into you."

He gazed at Marcellus, examining him as if he were an interesting new species of monkey, looking for any signs that would betray his reaction to the Master's monologue. Back in the good old days when he was still a Timelord, he could have just poured the ideas that he wanted to force upon him right into his head as easily as he was pouring a cup of tea. But now, most regrettably, he couldn't do this any longer for he was only human. No, he thought sourly, he wasn't even human. He was an idea, a mindset. A brilliant, vicious and psychotic mind trapped inside a human body that was controlled by a complete moron with the sophistication of a rotten potato peel. One that had been very busy getting them killed.

Really, it was time to take over the steering wheel before the whole bloody ship goes under.

"He transferred the information of my Timelord biology into a fobwatch, which is a cheap Galifreyen trick." He continued explaining, although considering the response that he could read so far from Marcellus's face, he really didn't know why he should bother.

"We Timelords don't like to look at the time. Wave a perception filter over it and presto, it's the perfect camouflage. Mind and DNA coding locked away safe and sound inside a little trinket that wouldn't even attract a second glance from the victim. Only this time, that piece of junk that the Doctor dared to call bioconverter didn't do a proper job. You see, it failed to remove me from your mind. Instead of putting me away in that cheap piece of timework, it sealed me in together with you, building huge walls, boxing me in, digging deep pits, and burying me deep under the surface to keep me away from your consciousness. Can you imagine, all that to keep me from interfering, and to keep you from remembering who you really are. For me and you Marcellus, we are the same."

Marcellus swallowed hard. "I am not you. I am not a criminal."

The sinister grin that appeared on the Master's face sent shivers down Marcellus's spine.

"Great men do not obey laws. They smash it, they destroy the establishment that forms the inadequate status quo and create an utopia of their own." He came close to him, breathing his hot breath into his face.

"Great men are not afraid to be criminals."

Marcellus stared into the Master's eyes. They seemed to glow in the darkness of the room, and were so intense and penetrative, that he believed that he could look into his soul.

"You're mad." Marcellus said after a long silence.

He jumped up in fright when the Master clapped loudly in his hands, the grin on his face widened in cruel mockery.

"Said the slave Marcellus while his brains are being turned into liquid by a pesky little virus. I trust I am not the only one here who's becoming mad."

Marcellus blinked at him with his hooded eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, right." The Master mumbled, putting his fingers on his lips and pretending to realize it just yet. "Well I guess I can't blame you for being ignorant. Captain bisexual did not exactly bless you with an education of any kind, let alone that I should have illusions that you might have any knowledge of 20th century virology. So let me enlighten you. You are going mad my dear Marcellus, because you've been sodomized by a client who suffered from syphilis. Remember the sweaty, bed ridden fat bloke that Micranus introduced you to? The one with the puss running down his cock. Ring any bells?"

"Syphilis, is that what makes me so ill?"

"Yes I'm afraid it does." The Master pouted his lips and faked a sad face. "Well, more precisely, it will turn you raving mad and blind, if it would be so kind not to kill you first. The good thing is, it cracked your mind for me. Opened it right up like a blossoming flower. It allowed me to enter you consciousness, not entirely of course or I wouldn't have bothered doing this polite chitchat with you. No, it was only a little, enough to grant me a glimpse through the bars so to speak." He grinned, a devilish look in his eyes. "But not enough to really let me escape."

"And you need me to do that? Set you free?"

"I need you to listen. Listen to the drums Marcellus. It's the only way for us to survive."

"No, I won't listen to you! I saw what you've done to those people. I remember it. You're a monster. If the Doctor used his bioconverter to imprison you inside my head, then there must be a way to retain you and make you disappear again." Marcellus said determinedly.

The Master clacked his tongue, looking very displeased. "Hope must spring eternal for idiots like you. How do you think you can survive in this harsh world with that stupefying amount of naivety? You're relying on the Doctor? The man who condemned you to this hellhole? And what short-circuited neuronal catastrophe that occurred underneath that thick skull of yours convinced you that you should defend humanity, these selfish apes that are cheating, lying and stealing whenever they get the chance? Don't you remember how much you have suffered by their hands? Don't you realize how much you're still suffering?"

The room faded away and Marcellus was once again in the senator's family tomb, shivering and ailing of sickness, only this time he wasn't alone. A vagrant dressed in rags loomed over him. He held back a large dog with a scruffy coat that barked maliciously at Marcellus, baring its teeth with its ears folded flat against it neck. The vagrant pulled the horse blanket away from him. Marcellus, stunned by the cold, grabbed hold of it instinctively.

"Hey, hands off! It's mine now! You were supposed to be dead. Try to keep it and I'll have Lupa here tear you to pieces!"

"Please, I need this." Marcellus pleaded. The cold stabbed into this flesh like a knife. "I'm very ill. Don't take this from me, it's all that I own."

"Ah, piss off you idiot!" He kicked him in the side and laughed. "Lupa, get him! You didn't get your diner yet, did you?" He let the dog loose. The beast jumped on Marcellus, sinking his teeth into his arm. He screamed in horror and pain while the vagrant laughed and shouted encouragements at his dog. His heart was racing. The pulse quickened in his veins as he felt how his blood gushed out of the bite wounds and streamed down on his face. Back in the shadows, the Master waited with his arms crossed over his chest, an amused look and a sadistic smile on his face.

"If I'm a monster, Marcellus. What are these people who have done you wrong so many times? They take again and again from you till you are left with nothing. Is this what you call justice, the sort that the Doctor price so highly? Is this what you deserve?"

Marcellus turned his head away from the beast's yapping teeth. "Help me!" He screamed, terrified.

"Sorry, can't do." The Master said, holding his hands up in the air. "I'm not in charge here, you are."

Marcellus kicked his feet against the dog's belly, sending the animal crashing into the sarcophagus. The impact snapped its back around the sharp corner of the marble slates, and the dog fell to ground, yelping pitifully.

The Master clapped in his hands in excitement. "Well done Marcellus! Now, kick the doggy while it's down, shall we?"

Marcellus scrambled back up on his feet, leaning heavily on the sarcophagus. Blood ran down his face and into his eyes, staining the world crimson. He grabbed an urn from one of the niches lining the wall and smashed it onto the dog's skull. The dog made a terrible high-pitched sound and kicked with its feet in the air.

"Lupa! You lunatic! Get away from her!" The tramp came rushing towards him in a frenzy of rage, holding a short knife in his hand. "I'm going to kill you if you harm my dog! You hear me!" He flung himself on Marcellus, aiming the knife at his neck.

The thin line of reason and morality finally snapped inside Marcellus. This man, this stain of humanity who should know the value of mercy better than any fortunate man, had tried to rob him from his only possession and had set his hound free to torture him for his amusement. There was no way that Marcellus could see any good in this vile and selfish creature, and the hate he felt towards him filed him with strength to struggle free and trap the tramp underneath him. He grabbed the vagrant's hand still holding the dagger, and with two hands he forced it towards his assaulter's neck, aiming at the soft spot between the collar bones. The vagrant cried out, his eyes bulging as he stared up at Marcellus, his features no longer enraged but struck by fear. His mouth moved, words that begged for mercy parted his lips, but Marcellus blocked them out, did not wish to hear them and concentrated on the drums that hammered relentlessly in his head. The tip of the dagger disappeared into the vagrant neck, and blood gushed out as from an upturned glass. The vagrant's screams drowned into a series of gurgles as blood welled up inside his mouth and nose. Marcellus let go of the knife, and hit the man in the face, breaking his nose bridge. He landed him another blow, and another, and another, each struck with all his might. He didn't stop till the tramp's face was no more but a crumbled featureless mass of broken bone and flesh.

He stepped back and collapsed on the floor, trembling. Horror and revulsion welled up inside him as he stared bleakly at the remains of the dog and its master. The dagger was still stuck in the victim's neck. He covered his eyes with his blood-drenched hands to not longer have to see what he had done.

As the Master approached he listened to his footsteps in the dark, his mind became absent, reversing into a childlike state. He did not know how to get himself out of this horrible situation, and like a child that sought forgiveness as much as it was frightened to be punished for the crime, he longed deeply for comfort and guidance from someone stronger than himself.

"What should I do now Master?" He asked with a trembling voice.

"What should I do?"

The Master smiled ever so sweetly, relishing in the use of his name as a sign of victory. When he spoke to Marcellus, his voice was as reassuring as that of a parent comforting a child.

"Now, my dear Marcellus, we run."

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

27.  
Manius Silvius had just shoved down his ration of cooked chickpeas with oil and garlic, and was nursing his cup of watered down wine when a strangely dressed man entered the office. He was pale like a ghost, and was unusually dressed for a Roman, or even for a foreigner from the Northern territories, from which he assumed he came. The man walked straight to him, his face dead serious and his head held high as if he was someone with authority. Manius threw the last gulp of wine down his throat and stood up from his seat. This, he thought, was going to be interesting.

"Are you the man in charge of this prison?" The stranger enquired with an air of superiority that made Manius directly dislike him. He spat on the floor, his gob just before the stranger's feet.

"Who's asking?"

"My name does not concern you, but I am a member of the imperial Praetorian guard, selected by emperor Claudius himself from the Northern Germanic tribes." The stranger answered confidently. "I am here to carry out the emperor's orders."

Manius eyed the stranger from head to toe in disbelief before he burst out in laughter. "You're a jester aren't you? You look more like a Greek bum boy to me! Why, you wouldn't be able to lift an axe, let alone strike out with it to protect the emperor!"

The stranger did not react to his smug response. He toke from somewhere out of his clothing a square path of leather, flipped it open and showed it to him. Manius responded rather surprised.

"This document contains the imperial seal, cast from the ring of emperor Claudius. It grants me authority to access any civil building in Rome."  
Manius leaned forward to take a better look at it, but the Praetorian quickly put the document back into one of those hidden folds in his clothing.

"Now, I'm asking you again, are you the man in charge of this prison?"

Somewhere down his thick muscular neck a trickle of sweat started to glide into his tunic. "I'm so sorry sir. I didn't know! I just assumed that you were mocking me. There are so many nutters these days who just show up and pretend to be someone they are not!" Micranus rambled.

"Look, can you just answer the question?"

"Oh right sir. No sir. I'm not in charge here sir. The man in charge is prefect Calpurnius sir."

"Alright, I would like to speak to him then, where is he?"

"Eh, at home sir, in bed with his wife and fast asleep. It's already past midnight sir. The prefect won't be here till tomorrow morning."

"Right, I can't wait till then. So suppose I have to speak to the man who's in charge at the moment, the soldier with the highest authority present, which is you. Right?"

"Eh, yes I suppose so, sir."

"Well then. I'm looking for a vagrant with the name of Marcellus Quintus. He is a runaway slave from the brothel-holder Simon Asinaria. I need to find him and bring him in for questioning. Have you taken a man with such a name in custody?"

"Sorry sir, my memory is not that good. But I could look it up for you. We register the names of every prisoner for the civil archives." Manius retreated in the backroom, but returned quickly with a thick scroll of paper that he rolled out over the table. It didn't take him long to find it. "Ah, here it is sir, Marcellus Quintus, age 36, a male slave marked with the seal of Simon Asinaria. Found wandering the streets in derelict and confused state after stabbing a shop holder to death with a broken shard of pottery. Is charged with murder of the shop-holder and the theft of one loaf of bread. He's sentenced to death by public execution in the arena. Is this the man you're looking for sir?"

The Doctor had to swallow something hard that was stuck in his throat before he could answer that question.

"That's him alright." He said, quietly. "He's not dead is he?"

"Oh no sir. He's been lucky. The arenas have been fully booked with all kinds of exciting performances the last couple of weeks due to the celebrations of Nero's adoption by the emperor. He wasn't scheduled in anything till next month."

Visible relief washed over the Doctor's face. "Can you take me to see him?"

28.  
The Doctor followed the Roman soldier down a narrow staircase that led down into a dungeon. It was a vault, shaped in a long corridor with shallow niches hacked out in the stone bedding. The air was thick with the stench of human excrement and sweat. The darkness was so all-consuming that it was hard to see where they were going, despite of the flickering light that came from the torch that Manius used to lighten their path. Only when the eyes of the Doctor had adjusted to the darkness did he realize what kind of place it was. It was hell on earth, filled with human suffering and despair. Prisoners, naked or dressed in nothing but yellowish decomposing rags, were shackled to chains by their neck and ankles. They were filthy and starving. Some of them wept when they passed by, others watched them bleakly with sunken eyes. Others threw themselves at feet, skeletal hands clawing and pulling at the pipes of his trousers. The soldier grabbed the whip form his belt and hit them till they recoiled to the foul corners of the dungeon like frightened beasts.

"Look out sir." Manius said, turning around to face the Doctor. "They're like mad beasts down here! One slip and they're at your throat like hungry wolves."

The Doctor didn't say anything, just shook his head in revulsion. The human race. The species that he loved and admired the most from all of creation. He just could not understand how they were capable of this.

They ventured deeper into the dungeon till they reached a small niche in the wall almost at the back. A prisoner, shackled in chains like the rest of them, lay huddled on the filth-covered floor. His naked body had wasted away to nearly nothing, his chest was a barrel of ribs, the legs shrunken so that the knees were thicker than the thighs. He was covered in sores, wounds, and scars from the whip, and looked almost grey, being ingrained in layers of filth with flakes of skin peeling off. His long hair hung in filthy strings in front of his face. His eyes were cast down, oblivious of their presence.

"This should be him sir, the prisoner that you were looking for."

For a moment, the Doctor had to adjust his mind to this information. He did not recognize the Master. The image just did not match with what he had expected. But what had he expected? That the man that he would find in this hellish place would look somehow less broken, less affected by his mistake, and less pitiful, than this? 

Hesitantly, he stepped forward. The sound of his footsteps startled the prisoner who shot an anxious glance in their direction. The chains rattled as he tried to crawl away to hide.

"Don't get so near sir! This one will bite. I saw it happen to one of the soldiers who dragged him in." Manius raised his whip to strike at the frightened prisoner. "Back you filth! Back I said!"

The Doctor immediately grabbed him by the wrist and stopped him. "Don't!" He said, his voice turning into ice. "Don't you dare to use this whip on him!"

Manius took one look at the expression on the Doctor's face and complied silently.

"Leave us." The Doctor said.

"But sir, I can't guarantee your safety."

"I'm a member of the imperial Praetorian guard. I can handle myself down here with these shackled prisoners. Now leave!"

Manius cocked an eyebrow while reconsidering the Doctor's skinny frame, but then decided that it wasn't worth it to point out the bloody obvious. Before he left, he lit another torch with his own and handed it to the Doctor.

"Now you wouldn't want to stay behind without a light, would you?"

The Doctor waited till the soldier's footsteps had died away. He laid a hand on the prisoner's shoulder. Marcellus flinched away from his touch as if being beaten or burnt.

"Marcellus? It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help."

He crouched next to the prisoner, and lifted the torch to eyelevel to see his face. It was indeed the Master, but his features were distorted by the pain and suffering he had endured. His cheeks were sunken, his cheekbones protruding and battered, his mouth had a drawn-in look. Only his eyes were fierce and watchful, but there was something wrong with them. Marcellus did not recoil or shield them when the harsh light shone directly into his face, not even when the Doctor gently nudged his chin up to make him raise his head. His pupils did move constantly, darting from one corner to the other, like that of a frightened animal stumbling in the dark.

"Marcellus?"

The Doctor waived his fingers in front of his eyes. They did not follow them, but stared right through as if they were translucent.

"You're blind." The Doctor whispered. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

The Doctor folded his arms gently around the trembling prisoner, who gave weak resistance at first, frightened of being hurt again, But the Doctor whispered softly in his ear, words of remorse and repent that he did not understand. He stroked his hair, and rocked him in his arms. It felt warm and gentle, and so peaceful. A warm familiar scent surrounded him, the smell of home and a childhood he could no longer remember. The strange but wonderful rhythm of a double heartbeat. And soon, all that mattered to Marcellus was the presence of this gentle merciful stranger. The idea that he would be left alone again in this pitch black darkness made him sick with fear. He licked his cracked lips and began to beg in a broken voice.

"Please, help. My master has abandoned me. I can no longer hear him. I can't see. I can't find him." He pulled himself up, moving closer to the man, seeking for comfort, and buried his tearful face in the folds of his clothing. "Are you my new master?"

"Marcellus, don't say that." The Doctor pleaded, tears welling up in his eyes.

"Please, take me home with you." Marcellus clung onto him desperately. "I will be a good slave. I know that I am ill, but I can still please you." His trembling hands went down the Doctor's chest, in search of a belt to unhook or a gap between the fabric to enter. "I will do everything you ask of me. I will be a good slave." He lowered himself, shivering in effort as he arched his back, till his mouth brushed the bulge in the Doctor's trousers. "Please, I can still please you, master. Please let me show you."

"Stop this! Stop this immediately!" The Doctor yelled, he felt disgusted, sickened to stomach. He pushed Marcellus's hands away, and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Listen to me, you don't need to do this anymore, alright? Stop doing this. It's all right." 

"Please, I'm not worthless! Don't leave me here. Please don't leave me here, master. Don't leave me." Marcellus's voice trailed off, becoming softer and softer, till he murmured it like a prayer.

The Doctor did not know what he should say to him. He shut his eyes and wished deeply that he could undo all those horrible things that had crushed Marcellus's mind, but he couldn't. What he held in his hands were the shards of a broken existence, and all he could do was to find a way to mend those broken pieces back together again.

He just kept holding him, patting his hair and calming him till the fire of the torch burnt out and they were both left in total darkness.

29.  
The Doctor sat in the corner of the waiting room, flicking idly through a copy of National Geographic, while his mind wandered as he stared through the large glass panel that looked out into the hospital corridor. Patients of different species and race came scuffling by, often followed by the ever diligent cat sisters who were watching over them. The year was five billion and twenty three, they were in the galaxy M87 on the planet New Earth, and this was the Pleasure Garden hospital. A place where he had brought Marcellus as soon as he had freed him out of the Roman prison, and where he hoped that the capable hands of the Sisterhood would be able to keep him alive and cure him. It had been three days. Three days of waiting. They had told him to go home. He looked tired, and should rest. They would call him as soon as there was any sign of improvement. He had rejected that idea, and had been literally living in the waiting room ever since. He paced around the tiny room like a caged lion, drinking coffee that made his stomach clench into a tight ball of bitter nerves. The other people who had to wait in the same room avoided him, or left and preferred to wait outside. 

Every time the door opened he would raise his head in hope, only to let it drop again in disappointment. But he never lost hope. It was all he had left.

At the end of the third day, close before midnight, sister Hara came in and laid her paw on the tired Timelord's shoulder.

"Doctor?"

The Doctor looked up hopefully.

"How is he? Is he awake?"

The cat sister smiled politely. "Your friend has been successfully treated with the antiviral elixir, he's cured from the disease.

"And his sight?"

"We are pleased to inform you, that he is responding very well to the neural stem cells that we have injected. They have proliferated and have replaced most of the damaged cells in the optical nerves. He should be able to see again."

The Doctor's lips split into a radiant smile. "So he's going to be all right? He's going to be his normal old self again?"

"Ehm, yes."

"Oh thank you so much!" The Doctor bounced up from his seat and smothered the surprised sister with hugs and kisses. "Oh thank you! Thank you! Bless your little paws." He kissed her paw and lifted her from the floor for a happy twirl. "And bless all those sweet little paws from the Sisterhood too!" He blurted, yelling so loud that even the people at the other side of the glass could hear it. It made sister Hara grimace ever so slightly.

"Doctor, could you please put me down!"

"What? Oh, Ehm sorry about that." He gently put sister Hara back to her feet. "I got carried away there. But it is fantastic news!"

"Ehm, yes. Doctor, there is something that you must know. Something important. Your friend is still not well. Physically, he's fine, and he will recover completely. But, his mind however, is yet another thing."

The Doctor's happiness subsided from his face, and he sank back down in his seat. Somehow, he must have expected this.

"The patient is completely traumatized. He suffers from delusions and panic attacks so severe that he might hurt himself and others. It's quite sad really." The sister said with deep sympathy in her voice.

"Is there a way to help him?"

"Doctor." Sister Hara started hesitantly and sighed deeply. "Don't take this wrong. Our Sisterhood is most grateful to you for your contributions. If it wasn't for you the atrocities conducted by matron Casp would have never been brought to light. And we have fully recovered from that black page in our history, and reclaimed our position as the top medical institute in the galaxy. But, the point is, even we cannot really treat psychiatric patients."

"He's not a psychiatric patient." The Doctor answered defensively. "He's been saner than he's ever been."

"Now you know that is not true." Sister Hara shook her head for so much stubbornness. "I'm sorry Doctor, but there isn't and there has never been a proper cure for insanity. All we can do, and what you should do, is to take him somewhere safe. Place him in the hands of professionals who can take care of him. Here." The sister handed the Doctor a small card.

"This is a business card for a psychiatric institution." The Doctor said, appalled.

"It's a private institution for mental health." The sister said. "I can assure you that they take good care of their patients. Well, obviously, the more you pay, the better they treat him."

The Doctor ripped up the business card into tiny little pieces.

"I'm not going to leave him behind in an asylum." He said determinedly.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

30.

The sound of the Tardis was something that she had dreamed of hearing for weeks now. The Doctor had not yet called. Of course not. She had distinctively told him that the mobile was for her to contact him, not the other way around. Or at least that was what she was trying to tell herself.

At moments like this, she had the tendency to bite her tongue to remind herself that she had done it because she wanted to get out. It was her own, well-considered decision. Martha, she said to herself, grow up. Grow up and forget about him. He was probably twirling somewhere in the galaxy right now, keeping an eye on that homicidal maniac. He seemed happy enough when he left. And she was confident that the Doctor knew what he was doing.

Still, she found herself often worried about him. And she did miss him a lot.

On one not so special, dreadful Monday morning she heard the familiar sound of the Tardis engine whisking itself into her existence. She didn't think twice. Just rushed outside the children's ward and went looking for the blue box. She found it at the bank of the river, close to the hospital.

"Doctor? Are you there?"

She tried door, but it was locked. It wasn't a particularly cold day, but she had been in such a rush that she had forgotten to get her coat out of the locker. She could go back to snatch it, but then there was the risk that she would just miss meting him again. Better to stay put and wait. He couldn't be that long gone, could he? Her teeth were shattering. She hugged herself and began to jog on the spot to keep warm, cursing to have made such a fatal decision to wear a short skirt in the middle of winter. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to wait inside.

She still had the Tardis key. It was the one thing she didn't want to let go of so easily. Returning this was like acknowledging to herself that she will never be with him again. It was just one step too far in her self-invented let-go-of-the-Doctor therapy. Hell, even crack addicts have seven steps in their recovery program. No sense in hurrying things needlessly.

She took the key from the cord around her neck. She had been wearing it like a good luck charm, and in case he would ask any further about it, it was only because it looked fashionable. She inserted it into the lock and turned. The familiar wooden click of the lock made her smile, and after taking a deep breath, she went inside the Tardis.

Everything still looked the same, it was as if she had never left. Even the smells were familiar, something that reminded her of mothballs and petrol oil. And mints. Chocolate mints. She was unaware of the radiant smile that was plastered on her face ever since she had been inside. She sat down in the Doctor's favorite chair next to the console, brushing the keyboard and the levers with her fingers almost lovingly, allowing herself to rekindle some of her fondness for the Doctor.

Something metallic crashed on the floor. The racket made he jump straight up.

"Doctor?" She tried to calm her fast pacing heart. "Is that you back there?" She went to the sleeping quarters where the noise had originated. Typical, she though, it's already eleven o clock on a Monday morning and he's still sleeping like an unemployed bum. Why can't I be an ancient Timelord, at least I wouldn't have to get up early for work like the rest of the world. She opened the door to his bedroom, half-wishing to see him spread out in bed, preferably naked. There was no one there.

"Doctor?" She asked. "Doctor, I'm getting worried now. Where are you?"

There was another noise, glass breaking on the floor, coming from one of the spare rooms. Oh God, she thought, suddenly realizing the mistake she had made in her assumptions. That's true isn't. I've forgotten all about the Master. What if the Doctor is not around but he's still in. Her heart raced, beating in her throat. Calm down Martha. He can't do any more harm now, can he? The Doctor wouldn't just leave him home-alone with the Tardis without at least taking some serious precautions. Her hands were slightly trembling. Okay, not entirely convinced there. She quickly snatched the breadboard and a knife from the kitchen and went back to the sleeping quarters. Her mind was rambling, making up all kinds of potential threats. What if that maniac had somehow taken the Doctor prisoner again? Wouldn't that explain why he didn't show up? Maybe he had turned him back into that old pitiful creature, or had tortured him with some sort evil device that he had concocted. Her grip around the knife's handle tightened. Whatever fear she had for her own safety, she knew exactly what she would do if she found out that he had hurt the Doctor. This time there won't be anyone around who would want to keep him alive. That creep had his last chance, and wasted it.

She slammed the door to the spare room wide open, pointing the knife at the Master while she kept the breadboard close to her chest like a shield.

"No! No!" He yelled. "Doctor! Doctor!"

"Ehm, what?" Martha lowered her makeshift weapon. The Master was tied up in bed, staring at her appearance with what could only be described as shock and fear. "What's going on in here?"

She approached him with caution while he fought against the leather restrains that ran in two broad bands over his chest and feet. He was desperately wriggling his body to get away from her.

"Please, don't cut me." He eyed at the knife that she still held in her hand. "Don't hurt me. Please."

"You're pleading with me?" Martha asked, aghast. "What's the matter with you?"

"I didn't do anything." He swallowed hard, and shot a frightened glance at her. "I've been good. I swear. The Doctor said I've been good. He did."

"The Doctor? Right. Where is he?" Martha thought that if there was someone who could make sense out of this strange mindfuck of a situation, it would be him.

"I don't know. He left. I don't know for how long. It seems like days now. But he will be back. He promised me that he will be. The Doctor never lies." He gave Martha a timid little smile that she found deeply disturbing.

"It can't be days. I just heard the Tardis land here about a half an hour ago."

"Really?" He furrows his brows, lifting his head from the pillow to take a better look at her. "Oh but that's good isn't it? I was starting to get worried. I'm sorry I had it wrong. It's been very difficult to keep track of things. The Doctor told me not to count the seconds when he's away. It makes my head hurt too much." He kept staring at her as if he was trying to remember something.

"It's Martha Jones." She stated coldly. "You may remembered me from traveling with the doctor and kicking your ass."

"Martha Jones." He repeated her name, extending each vowel like he was tasting it. "Martha Jones. Martha Jones. Martha Jo-"

"Hey, don't wear it out." She snapped. The way he spoke her name reminded her of the old Master, and gave her a serious case of creepy shivers.

"I…I did something to you. You and your family." He blinked, and cast his eyes down apologetically. "I do sometimes remember things from before. I dream about them. The Doctor tells me that I should ignore them for now. Forgive and forget. That's what he says. But that's not right, is it? That doesn't exactly make me good." He paused, glancing up at her shyly. "Oh, wait, now I remember you!" He suddenly shot into instant happiness mode in less than half a second, scaring the bloody wits out of her. "Martha Jones, the Doctor's faithful companion! You were the one who came back to save him, good for you!"

"Yeah, right. You're actually glad that we have beaten you." Martha stated, raising a cynical brow.

"And you had me completely fooled with that special weapon of yours. It was very clever of you, very clever and very, very brave." He said, nodding his head in agreement to emphasize how clever he though she was.

"This is totally bonkers!" Martha took another look at him. She found him grinning at her with nothing less than sincere admiration, and she decided that she had enough of this. "Correction, you are totally bonkers! What did the Doctor do to you?" She could imagine that the Master, the old one that is, not this crazy one, had pushed him one step too far, and that he had finally decided to get rid of this potential menace. She would have fully agreed with that decision, although it did strike her a bit cruel to leave him imprisoned in such a state.

"Did he ECT-ed you? Did he give you any drugs?"

He stared at her with a blank expression on his face.

"Did he fry your brains? Given you any pills to swallow?" Or did he perform front lobotomy on you with a shovel and a pitchfork, she added in contempt.

"He em…" He bit his lips. Images flooded into his mind. He saw himself kicking and screaming, bound in a chair, wearing a metal helmet on his head that sent out malicious sparks into his brains.

"No! That wasn't the Doctor! He didn't do that to me, you're lying!" He spat.

"Hey calm down! I didn't say he did."

"You are a bloody liar! I won't listen to you! I won't!" There was such fierceness in his response that Martha backed up a bit, even though she knew that he was restrained.

"Okay, okay, he didn't. I get your point." She said. The strangest thing just occurred to her that it seemed that he wasn't necessary yelling at her. His eyes were directed at something, or someone further away, on a spot close to the wall next to the door. If there had been someone else in the room that was. To her, he was just vending off his frustrations to the wallpaper. The Doctor was right about him on one thing, psychiatrist's field day indeed.

"Ssh, calm down now will you. There is no one there." She laid her hand on his forehead that was damp with sweat. Great, Martha thought, now he's made me feel sorry for him. I swear, if this turns out to be one of his slick deceptive little plans trying to escape, I'm so going nominated his ass for a second round of serious ass-whipping.

"I swear, the Doctor didn't hurt me or anything. He is very kind. The Doctor could have never send me to that horrible place to make me suffer. He made that all up, just to make me hate the Doctor. But I'm not listening to him anymore. Whatever he says, it's not true. He's evil."

She stroked his shortly cropped hair, glad that his ramblings was distracting him from his groundless anger. He was noticeably calming down, his shoulders and neck becoming less tensed. She noticed that the Doctor had cuffed his hands and ankles to the leather bands. The sleeves of his white hospital shirt were wet, with a damp patch just underneath on the blankets. Her eyes followed the damp stain that was shaped like an arrow, pointing to the side. When she looked under the bed, she found a broken glass and a small metal plate turned upside down. Four brightly colored pills lay scattered in a pool of fluid next to it. She picked them up.

"So that's how you made all that racket." She said, studying the pills, the brand name was missing, so she couldn't make out what they were.

"I tried to get the pills from the nightstand. I couldn't reach it. Must have knocked them down."

"So he did give you medication."

"Yes, he did." He nodded, sweat trickling down his temple. "But only because he wanted to help. It stops my head from hurting."

"He left you like this, unattended, without giving you your pills?"

"No, no, he would never do that. Off course he gave them, just before he went. It's just…" He grimaced as the pounding headache that had been wrecking his brain was getting worse. "It's just not enough."

"I can't give you more of these." Martha said, considering that the Doctor had just left. "I have no idea what these pills are and what they will do to you."

"Just to stop the pain." His head felt possibly like boiling now. "Please. I'll take just one."

Martha shook her head and let the pills slide down her pocket.

31.

She finally met the Doctor in the Tardis control room. He greeted her with a warm, wonderful hug. She did try to resist his boyish charms, but her carefully build up defense system and cool composure just melted away in his arms. God she had missed him. She missed his silliness and cleverness, and how he could just ramble on about nothing and everything with fifty miles an hour. She just asked him where he's been, and he was on it again, talking to her, telling her about all the amazing places he had been, without so much as taking a breath between the sentences.

She waited till he had calmed down from his excitement before dropping the question.

"So, What happened to him?"

The Doctor paused his continues steam of gibberish. "What?"

"I went to look for you in the sleeping quarters and kinda bumped into him. What happened to the Master?"

"Oh, Bugger, Marcellus!" The Doctor yelled out, going through his hair like crazy. "How long have I been away? Is he awake?"

He stormed into the direction of the tiny spare room at the back of the Tardis. Martha ran right after him, visibly confused. "Marcellus? Who's Marcellus?"

"Doctor, you're back." Marcellus muttered, beaming a pained but genuine smile at him.

"Yes, it took bit longer than expected." The Doctor observed worryingly the state he's in. "You're in pain. I'm sorry, I should have come back earlier." He wiped the sweat from his brow and caressed his damp hair. "The pills. Where are the pills." He turned and searched through the clutter on top of the nightstand.

"I have them." Martha had watched the whole scene and was in a bit of a shock. She had never seen them together like this, with the Doctor so concerned and with the Master being so, well so docile and harmless. She took the pills out of her pockets and dropped them into the Doctor's hand.

"Are you really going to give them to him? He told me that he just took some only an hour ago." It was her internal Dr. Jones MD talking, and she although she was not yet qualified, the girl was usually right about these things. It therefore deeply offended her that the Doctor did not seem hear her advice at all and fed the shivering Master all the pills in one go.

"You'll feel better soon now." The Doctor fussed. "Just lay down and I'll get you a glass of water to get rid of the taste."

The Master managed to smile gratefully at him while his whole body was still strained and trembling. He closed his eyes and sank into a slumber.

Martha followed the Doctor out of the room. "That better be placebo pills you've been given him." She jumped in front of him, so he could no longer not notice her.

"What? No, oh no, these are Cofanoides, 100 pure, it's like C17H21NO4, only twice as strong."

"What's C17H21NO4?"

"Cocaine." He coughed with a hand before his mouth before it trailed off to rub the back of his neck.

"What! You're giving him cocaine!"

"Well it's also used as an anesthetic you know, right here in the hospitals in 21th century earth!" The Doctor said defensively. "The new formula has been distilled and improved by the Sisterhood. It works very efficiently with very few side effects." He further explained. But Martha didn't buy it, she had worked in London hospitals for 3 years now, and she could recognize an addiction when she saw one.

"You're feeding him drugs! No wonder he's all sweating and begging for them. You're turning him into a crack addict, just to keep him under control?" She looked at him, silently hoping that it wasn't true, Hoping that he would tell her that her acquisition was down right preposterous. But instead, the doctor looked rather rueful.

"Martha. I…"

She turned around, feeling sick to the stomach. She couldn't believe what the Doctor was doing. Yes, she had loathed the Master for all what he had done, but this, this is just beneath the Doctor. It had been a horrible mistake to go see him again, and she was rushing to the door, trying to get out of this nightmare.

"Martha! Wait!" The Doctor stopped her. "Wait, don't go! Just let me explain.." He gently rapped his fingers around her hand.

Martha gazed at him. "Oh you're going to explain, mister. Everything that is. I don't want any soppy stories about how I wouldn't understand. I could go report you and get you arrested for supplying drug to crack-heads." She ignored the hopeful smile that appeared on the Timelord's face, and sat down in the pilot chair, her face determined. "So, you better start talking."

TBC

Hi, I thought let's try a bit of fun here and see if that new poll system is working. Please go to my author's page and give your opinion about how this fic should turn out.

And always, please R & R because I'm a greedy little bastard!


	14. Chapter 14

Sorry guys, not really an update, but just a message to let you know that the new chapter is coming up and I'm working very hard on it as we speak. Things are just a bit hectic right now, to be frank my life is a total chaos. Please be patient. For those who didn't know, I've made a Master/Doctor music video and posted it on you tube a while ago. The plot of the video is about the same as this fanfic: The Master has been turned into a human by the Doctor, but he continues to have nightmares about the other timelord. The music is by the Decemberists and the song is great.To go have a look: go to the author's page for instructions.

Once again, your continuous patience with me and your interest in this fanfic is much appreciated.

Kind regards

Harry


	15. Chapter 15

32.

The Doctor sat cross-legged on the bed opposite to Marcellus. They were alone inside the Tardis, with the familiar whirring and churning of the engine the only sound that filled up the space between them. Outside, the blue box navigated through the clouds of stardust that would one day become the sun, the planets, the moons, and even the icy rocks of Saturn's rings. This phenomenon created a scene with a strange kind of beauty, both serene and overwhelming. The clouds were like brushstrokes, a work of art created by an artist, vibrating with colors, and becoming alive with every collision that occurred between the drifting particles, all merging, and all changing, giving birth to new entities.

How he would have loved to show this to him, to take his hand, part the doors of the Tardis, and let him see, let him understand, and allow him remember who he really was.

But he just couldn't. Not yet. Jack, in all his human frailty, had created a mirror image of the doctor. He had made Marcellus kind, intelligent, and loyal, with an intuitive sense of right and wrong, only to put him through a life of suffering and degradation that had turned him mad and paranoid. Marcellus was damaged, a human shell, broken and hollowed-out inside. Even the trust he had in the Doctor was fragile. It was a thin rope from which his beloved friend dangled from a high cliff, and he was slipping away from him. He was falling away into the abyss fast.

I will cure him. The Doctor thought, a sadness stirring his hearts. No matter what, I will save him, and than he will be able to see it. I will show him all the beauty that lies in time and existence. The last two timelords in existence, traveling together, no longer each-other's enemies, but trusted companions.

He placed his fingers gently on Marcellus's temples. He only flinched a little, a small, almost undetectable reflex left over from his past life. Blink and you would have missed it. Still, the Doctor had noticed. He closed his eyes, tilting his head towards him.

Don't be afraid of me Marcellus.

Please, don't be afraid.

The roads inside Marcellus's mind reminded the Doctor of the slums of Rome itself. There were no straight lines of logic, the path of reason was all twisted, and fear lurked around every corner turned. There were so many dead-ends that it seemed highly remarkable that Marcellus could form one complete thought inside his head at all. The rooms had no doors, and dark memories of a short and tormented life spilled straight onto the path of reason, polluting it with its filth. He did not wish to be reminded of what was stored inside these rooms. Maybe he could just seal it in, he had contemplated it many times, it would take just a small adjustment to Marcellus's memories to put all these horrible recollections behind him, but it was a ridiculous idea, really. The damage had already been done. Forgetting about the past because it was such a convenience for the one bearing the guilt would not help Marcellus at all.

So the Doctor ventured further, deeper into the slumps, entering the parts that needed illumination for any traveler to find his way. Something was buried there. The Doctor could sense it. It squirmed and wriggled in the dirt just under his feet. The Doctor sank through his knees and started to dig. But the object he wanted to uncover eluded him every time when he was getting near. A glimpse of white fingertips beckoning him, almost mockingly, then sinking back into the dark pit, is all that he got for his efforts.

What are you hiding there Marcellus? What scares you so much that you need to bury it and hide it away, even from me?

What are you afraid of?

What lies beneath the surface?

33.

"What is this?" The Doctor asked, while he watched with childlike curiosity how Martha poured the boiling water into the colorful plastic cups sitting on top of the coffee tray.

"It's a cup noodle. Here." She handed the scrimp-flavored one to the Doctor. "What, you've never heard of it?"

"No, well I saw them stocked up in the supermarket but it never occurred to me that it was a food item that was suitable for human consumption. I thought it was some kind of parakeet feed."

"So you never had one before?"

He shook his head and inquisitively took a fork-full, chewed on it, pushed it around in his mouth, slammed it against his palate with his tongue, and spat it out again, pulling an grossed-out face. "No, nope, never had one before and never will have another one. Yuk!" He wiped his tongue on his sleeves.

"Is it really that bad? I know it's not exactly gourmet cuisine, but I though the prawn-flavored one was quite edible."

"It tastes like sewage leakage from chemical mining plants. You must be utterly mad to like this."

Martha glanced over her shoulder at Marcellus, who was sitting up with his legs crossed in bed and was happily munching down the entire cup.

"See." The Doctor said, furrowing his brow worryingly. "Proves my point."

"Here." Martha smiled, she offered her portion to Marcellus. "Take a bit of mine. It's chicken flavored."

He just nodded and stuffed another plastic fork full of wriggling noodles into his mouth.

"Gee, You do really like them." Martha said, a bit astonished.

"It tastes really good." Marcellus muttered between two mouthfuls. "It's even better than what the Doctor cooks!"

"Ah." Martha shot an accusing look at the Doctor.

"Hey! Stop that! I know what you're thinking and it's not fair. I'm a wonderful cook!" The Doctor responded defensively.

"Well, you're not going to get me invited to your diner parties soon." Martha teased.

"I am a delightful cook, I know more than 12000 different recipes with a 100 different ingredients!"

"So does the latest Delia Smith recipe collection on CD, but it doesn't mean that I can sent my labtop into the kitchen to make diner for me."

"Delia Smith, oh yes, I do like her." The Doctor grinned, leaning back in his chair, his hands folded over his chest. "She is an immigrant alien. A Psedonian, a very curious race. Did you know that they've invented 230 ways to cook an egg?"

"That explains a lot. I started to wonder how someone could make so much money by teaching people how to boil eggs."

Martha listened how the Doctor started rambling about the precise science involved in process of egg preparation. She noticed how he continued to check and to take care of Marcellus, offering him his portion of the food, taking away the small plastic fork as soon as he was finished, and feeding him the pills. And although it seemed that his attention was directed to Martha because he was talking to her, she knew that he was constantly worrying and fussing about him like a large bouncy mother hen. Five hours before, she would have found it hard to understand his behavior, being far less forgiving towards the Master than the Doctor was. But the Doctor had explained to her what he had been through, and she now understood it completely. No man, even if he was the Master in his former incarnation, should be put through that kind of torment. And she accepted it that the Doctor was doing his best to help him. In fact, she realized that she liked Marcellus, and she wouldn't hesitate to offer them her help.

They waited till Marcellus had fallen asleep before they both quietly slip out of the room.

"At least there are no dishes to clean." The Doctor made a single knot in the white plastic bag with the garbage and dumped it into the bin in the kitchen. "And it would help me to lose some weight because it puts me off food for the rest of the day. Maybe those cup-noodles are good for something after all."

Martha shook her head and smiled. "The Doctor's turning domestic, who would have thought."

"I should stock up on those. He seems to like it. Maybe my cooking skills are a tad exotic for his taste." He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"So Doctor. What's your plan? How are you going to help him?" Martha asked, with a sudden serious tone in her voice.

"You worry about me, don't you?" He smiled at her.

"It's just…I am a MD, and I've seen patients like him. I've seen dozens of them, wandering around in the psychiatric ward with their minds completely off this world. They need a lot of care. In the hospital we have a staff of 40 people to watch over them 24 hours a day. You are all on your own."

"Don't worry, I take good care of him. I want to take good care of him."

"All I'm saying is that perhaps, you should get some help with that. Bring him to the hospital. Let him see a proper psychiatrist."

"I'm not going to get him committed!" The Doctor replied sternly. "I can't just abandon him. It's my fault that he ended up being like this in the first place."

"But it's not fair. Not to you and not to Marcellus. You can't just keep him sedated and tied down to a bed for the rest of his entire life. He can't do anything without you. That's not living, it's imprisonment."

"I know." He replied gloomily. "But that's why I need to find a way to cure him. Martha, before you arrived, I went out into the city to look for Jack."

"Jack? He's in London?" Martha asked, pleasantly surprised.

"His team is tracking down a time rift that has opened here right in middle of London. I went looking for him because I needed to speak with him. You see, when I allowed Jack to create the Master's human form, I also gave him this."

The Doctor showed Martha the object that he pulled out of his coat pocket, it was the all too familiar fobwatch with the intricate alien carvings.

"Everything that the Master was is contained inside." The Doctor explained. "And everything will be reverted to the way it was, as soon as Marcellus opens it."

"You're going to bring back the Master."

"Martha." The Doctor tried, as soon as he noticed her growing distress.

"I know, I know what that thing does. Remember John Smith? It turned you back into the Doctor, but John Smith was gone. If you do this the Master will return and Marcellus will stop existing. You'll murder him."

The Doctor fell silent again, and stared down at the fobwatch that he held in his hand. He gently traced the engraved circles with the tip of his thumb. He closed his eyes and let the gentle ticking of the hourwork vibrate through his fingertip into the fibers of his being. He sensed the serenity that streamed into him like a cascade of clear, sparkling water.

"You can't do this to Marcellus. He deserves a chance at life, more than the Master ever does. Please Doctor, you must not do this."

He couldn't hear her, he was suspended in space, the contact with the earth beneath his feet lost, watching the glowing, shimmering string that coded for the Timelord's DNA shooting by like a comet's tail. All that information was too much to take in, even for a Timelord. But why, he wondered, why did it feel so empty? Why was there so much space, as if the fobwatch was not occupied, soulless even? And why, if this was indeed all that the Master stood for, was it so strangely peaceful?

"Doctor? Doctor, what's the matter?" Martha asked, observing the chance of expression on his face.

34.

He woke up from his medication-induced oblivion when the Doctor lifted him out of bed. He stared at him with hooded eyes and asked where they were going. The Doctor did not answer him. He brought him into the control room, placed him in a chair that was bolted to the floor and strapped him down. Marcellus was confused, and scared, but this was the Doctor. Even in his ruined state he was convinced that the Doctor would never do him any harm. So he tried to calm his heart when it started to throb madly in his chest as the Doctor cuffed his ankles to the steel legs, and forced back his tears when the Doctor pulled down the helmet shaped device from the Tardis core and placed it on his head. He remembered it of course. He knew exactly what was going to happen, and still he didn't fight nor struggle against his restrains, for he trusted the Doctor. The Doctor would keep him safe, he kept telling himself. The Doctor was going to save him. So he bit his lower lip till he tasted blood, and breathed in deeply when the last leather straps were pulled tight around his wrists.

The Doctor knelt down beside him, his eyes meeting his, he gently stroked his cheeks.

"Doctor." He whispered. He swallowed hard.

"I'm sorry Marcellus." He kissed him on his forehead. "But I have to bring him back."

"Doctor!"

The Doctor walked over to the console and pulled the lever. A violent surge of electric currents passed through Marcellus, causing incredible pain. His muscles strained to the point that he believed that they would snap like a dry bundle of twigs. He screamed, his body desperate to escape the torture, it wriggled and squirmed, but there was no way out. He trusted the Doctor, and now he was caught like a dying animal in a hunter's trap.

The Doctor saw how he struggled, and sadness and horror were engraved on his features. He watched over the console. Oh how the dial climbed over the face of the display ever so slowly. Finally they reached the red line, and he immediately shut down the bioconverter. Marcellus had lost consciousness, his body was limp, with his head sank forward over his chest. The Doctor knelt down and gently stroked his hair while tears welled up inside him. He traced his temples with his fingertips, and closed his eyes as he entered his mind.

The path of reason was gone, dissolved completely into chaos, everywhere he looked were ruins, tired derelict walls still standing by leaning heavily into each other, and balustrades of rubble and dirt. The Doctor stared into the darkness and walked into the direction of the pit. A sound like thunder vibrated in he air en trembled the ground underneath his feet.

"Master!" He yelled. "I know you're here. Stop hiding. Show yourself!"

Footsteps, the sound of shoes with steel heels tapping on pavement. Out of the darkness, a figure appeared, walking towards him.

"Doctor, Doctor, Doctor." He spoke in a voice that was mockingly disapproving. "Now look what you have done to the poor wretch's mind. It's like a bloody earthquake in one of those sad backwards countries."

"I didn't do this to him. You did."

"Really, that's strange. Because I do recall that it was you who pulled the lever." The Master replied, smiling a very insincere smile. He was wearing his black coat and leather gloves, as if he was still Harold Saxon, stalking the streets of London with his Toclefane minions.

"You were the one who kept him sick. You've hiding in here like, sucking every bit of sanity out of him, like a vicious insatiable parasite!"

"Oh, come on Doctor! Such harsh words for a serial killer! So you wanted to get rid of me, I understand. I can be a bit too much handle, it's true. And I do have my own gruesome but sadly unfulfilled fantasies about your fate. So I respect your efforts, I really do. Only, if do you want to turn me into a stupid biped monkey, why not use the proper bioconverter? The one that came with the Tardis, that is. Instead of using a real shitty one that you made out of toilet rolls and painted macaroni tubes. After all those years of wasting materials at art classes in Gallifrey, don't you realize that you really suck at it? And I mean, really really suck. Like with a capital S?"

"Why didn't you show yourself when I was in here?"

The Master laughed at him, visibly amused. "And let you spoil all the fun? No way!"

"I could've helped you. I still can help you. You're not alone in this. Not anymore."

"What –" The Master yelled, clapping his hands right in front of the Doctor's nose. It sounded like a trap that sprang shut. "Did you have in mind, Doctor? Hm? This saving business of yours, does it involve group hugs and singing merry songs around the smoldering remains of poor Marcellus's mind? Or should I lie down on a couch, tell you about what kind of prick I think you are?"

"I want you to come with me. Stop torturing him. It's not his fault that he's stuck here with you in the same physical form."

"I knew it, you are going to spoil all the fun!" The Master said, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Watch out humans! The stuck-up high and mighty moral crusader is loose again. Lock up your sons and daughters before they get kidnapped and are brainwashed into his next mindless dummy companion."

"I'm serious. You have to leave Marcellus alone! His mind can't take any more of your assaults."

"Why would I ever listen to you? I can do in here what I bloody well like." The Master answered insolently. "I can feed his paranoia with poison, or twist a neuron or two to complicate his motor functions, it makes the daily activities of this gay version of me a bit less dull. Remember that time you just lost sight of him, just for a minute or so? It was enough to make him find a nice long skewer and force him to carve your name in his thigh." The Master grinned insanely. "I absolutely loved that look on your face when you found him in the kitchen. Priceless! Such compassion you have Doctor, for a man that doesn't even really exist. Now I would have loved to repeat that little joke. Only you wouldn't let poor Marcellus harm himself anymore, would you? Illegal drugs and leather restrains, that's really kinky Doctor. Who would have thought you would lower yourself to my level. What's next, you're going to chop off his limps and put him away in a box in the attic with the rest of the Christmas tinsels?" He shrugged indifferently. "He's useless anyway."

"Stop it! Don't talk about him like that!" The Doctor shot him an angry look, just when another rumble of thunder resounded in the air. It sounded louder now, as if it was a summer storm, approaching fast.

"Doctor?" The Master asked, cocking an eyebrow as he noticed how the Doctor was alarmed by it.

"You must stop this, we don't have much time." The Doctor said, looking up worriedly at the sky.

"What are you playing at Doctor?"

The Doctor sighed. "Listen Master, I know what you are trying to achieve here. You want to blackmail me into turning you back into a Timelord. But I can't restore you. Martha was right. If I allow you to resurface, Marcellus won't stand a chance."

"Who gives a bloody fuck what is going to happen to that little twat!" The Master spat. "What about me!? What about my life?! Don't you remember what you said on the Valiant? Those three little words, Doctor, I wonder, do you still remember them?"

"I've forgiven you." The Doctor said, his eyes staring straight into the Master's. "And I've failed to protect you, but I won't fail again for Marcellus's sake."

The Master lowered his head, a cynical smile spread over his lips. "We are the last of our kind Doctor." He slowly raised his head and looked up at the other Timelord.

"I still want to save you. I want to save you both."

Lightening flashed and thunder roared loudly across the black sky, making the ground under their feet tremble like in an earthquake while the sound vibrated through every fiber of their bodies.

"What the hell is going on?" The Master asked, looking up while he blinked nervously at the flashes of lightening that blinded him. "Doctor! What did you do? I demand to know!"

The Doctor remained calm at the surface, only his eyes betrayed his inner turmoil. He spoke with a solemn voice. "You were right Master, I made a mistake with the bioconverter's design. It failed to remove you from Marcellus's mind, but it didn't fail in containing you in a compartment where you couldn't do him any harm. If it wasn't for what had happened to him, you wouldn't been able to get out and cause such mayhem."

The Master stared at the Doctor, his eyes widening as he realized what he had done.

"The bioconverter." He whispered in one breath.

"I used it to amplify Marcellus's biological response to your presence. And that -" The Doctor paused, while a new violent crack of thunder split the air. "Is not a storm that's approaching, but the sound of the walls closing in on you as his mind reacts, repelling you like a malignant cancer. Soon you won't be able to get out. You will be imprisoned in here for the rest of your existence, until the very day that Marcellus dies."

"You can't do this to me!" The Master sneered, gritting his teeth.

"I don't want this to happen." The Doctor spoke, and reached out to him. "Master, I beg you, for once, make the right decision and accept my help."

I don't need your help!" The Master responded angrily, but his eyes were glistering with fear.

"Don't be so stubborn, you must realize that the only way for you to survive is to find Marcellus. You don't have another choice and you know it."

"You want me to become one with him. " The Master stepped away from the Doctor, anger and fear flashing across his face. "You want me to merge with that - that weakling! That's what you've been planning all along!"

"It's the only way to stop this reaction against your presence. When you two merge, you'll be become a part of his character and his physical form will finally accept you. Master! Wait! Listen to me!"

The Master turned around and ran, stumbling over the debris. The shouts of the Doctor were hardly audible above the violent cracks of thunder that seemed to be following him, aiming for his head. He went straight across the dark ruined path when the ground began to rise. Rubble sprang up and grew into monstrous high walls. He almost crashed into it, scratching the palms of his hands over the rough stones. For a moment he was stunned. This couldn't be happening to him. He swirled around, and ran into the opposite direction, only to be stopped after a couple of meters where a wall sprang up out of the earth. He turned again, and fled. The thunder grew louder and louder, till it was deafening, till it even silenced the drums inside it head. It frightened him to death. He tripped and tore the knee of his pants. The coarse stones ripped the skin of his chin wide open. The dirt under his fingers trembled and he sprang up just in time before a third wall rose up in front of him, climbing higher and higher till the top vanished into the sky.

He looked up at the monstrous construction that towered above him, casting an eerie shadow over his existence. He blinked his eyes when he saw the Doctor's face appearing out the gloom. Oh, how he loathed and hated him, and how he feared him.

His appearance was still calm. He was the center of all the destruction, the eye of the storm. From that moment that he had looked into the vortex and had seen the fabric of time, had heard the rise of the drums that were summoning him to war, from that moment on, he had known that he couldn't co-exist with him. So they had fought. They had fought each other from the beginning till the very end of time. Without him, he wouldn't be the Master. He was the reason for his existence, the catalyst who had made him who he was. And now, now that he was lying here on the ground, finally defeated, forced to stare up at him with his face in the dirt, the Master could only smile while the tears were welling up inside him.

"I thought you were compassionate Doctor?" He said, as calmly as he could force himself to be, but inside it felt like his hearts were turning into stone.

The Doctor didn't say anything. He just stared down at him. His eyes unblinking, he offered him his hand.

After a long pause, the Master finally took it.

TBC.


	16. Chapter 16

35.

He didn't have to ask what would happen to him, for he had been put through this before. The coppery taste of blood still lingered in his mouth, his nose bridge still throbbed maliciously, fractured by his victim's enraged mates. His vision was blurry, his left eye swollen purple and shut. He could barely stand up but still he moved, scuffling like an old limp dog as he was dragged into the middle of the crowd by the chains secured around his neck. The men cheered when Micranus kicked him in the spine, and he landed face down on the wooden table. Hungry hands grabbing his ass and pinching his butt cheeks. His arms were twisted and his hands were tied behind his back. A mug of cheap wine was poured over his head while the drunks laughed at him. His legs were kicked apart and his ankles were bound. Marcellus was very scared, and cried when they stuffed a piece of cloth in his mouth. He cried out for the Doctor as though a child would plead for his father, a primal cry for help, but he knew he wouldn't come for him now. Deep in his heart, he knew what had happened. He remembered it, and still felt the Doctor's kiss – a Judas kiss - burning on his forehead.

The first slap of the rod went for the back of his ankles, the next came down on his thighs. The rest he couldn't distinguish, for it all twisted and joined into a fierce agonizing pain that shredded him to pieces. His legs collapsed under him, dangled formlessly behind his body while his torso lay on the tabletop like a slap of butchered meat. Simon came forward, a short figure appearing out of a loud and threatening crowd. In his hand he held the burning candle. Marcellus shook his head and pleaded through his gag, although he knew it wouldn't help. It never did. Simon pushed it in his anus, and for an agonizing long moment, the fire burned him from the inside, scorching his intestines. He screamed, and as Micranus started to hit his back with a horsewhip, he wriggled and folded shamelessly. He lost control of his bladder, and vomited from the pain when the costumers started to take him, roughly and savagely, tearing everything apart. There was so much blood coming out of him, he didn't understand how he could bleed this much and still be alive.

They yanked his head up by the steel collar around his neck, he couldn't breathe, his lungs burnt, and soon he could hear the blood rushing in his ears while the world swirled in front of his eyes. His mind was a raw open wound, reacting on instincts, the light of reason completely gone. There was only fear, despair, and a violent need to escape. No more of this. No more. When they started cutting him up, all he could do was scream, and all he could cry out was the name of the Doctor, although by that time, the meaning of that word had been lost to him.

When he opened his eyes again, he was standing on top of a high cliff, the coarse sea wind swept into his face, blasting his cheeks with fine grains of sand. The ledge he was standing on was narrow, brittle chalk stones that crumbled off and tumbled into the dark sea below with the slightest movement that he made. His back and the palms of his hands were pinned against the rockface. Crying seagulls circled above his head like hungry vultures in the desert. His heart raced. There was nowhere left he could go. Both sides of the ledge had broken off, the cliff itself was too steep to climb, and there wasn't even room for him to turn around. All he could do was to stand there on that little patch of dirt, on that narrow edge that separated life from certain death, and cling on to it while the elements punished him mercilessly.

"_I know you Marcellus."_

It was his own voice. No, it was the Master's voice, speaking to him, and he recalled how he had found him, hidden away by Micranus in that abandoned shed in some dirty back-alley in Rome. He remembered how he had threatened him and filled his mind with images that had confronted him with his own mortality.

"_I know you better than you know yourself."_

He took in a ragged breath, filling his lungs with the cold air, and glanced downwards. A thousand feet beneath him, the grim forms of sharp rocks stuck out of the waves like shards of glass sticking out of an open wound.

"_Let you stand on narrow ledge of a cliff, a thousand feet above a dangerous ocean and a bed of sharp rocks beneath, and you will hold on for dear life_."

He closed his eyes, just for a moment, the seagulls mocking screams died away, his heart pace quieted down till all he could hear was the rustling of the ocean and the waves breaking on the rocks below.

"_You'll keep standing for eternity if you must. Everything is better than to die at once."_

He remembered his life as a slave, kept by a cruel Roman master. He remembered how he was degraded and tortured, fell severely ill and was thrown out in the streets to die. He remembered how he was tormented by his mind, the drums and the Master's voice, constantly ordering him to steal and murder, crimes that conflicted with his own wavering morality till he had completely lost his sanity. He recalled being arrested and being locked up in jail to rot. He remembered how frightened he was when he was going blind. He remembered being abandoned by the Master.

And he remembered how the Doctor had finally found him and saved him, only to betray his trust and cast him once more into hell.

Somewhere in the surrounding darkness, he could hear the Master laughing.

"_To seize existing is more terrifying than anything you can imagine."_

He wished he could press his hands against his ears to block it out, but his palms were sweating and he didn't dare to lift them from the rock surface. It was only after he noticed the idiot's grin on his face that he realized that the insane chuckle came from himself. The chuckle swelled into a full mad laughter, and he couldn't stop till the tears ran down his cheeks.

That's where you're wrong Master. He thought, smirking and tasting the salt of his tears on his lips. There are indeed more terrifying things in life, experiences that surpassed even the horror of death. Only, once you have gone through them, and you know how truly evil and debasing these experiences are, your mind tries to forget them in order to move on. But once given the choice to endure them again, knowing how bad it was, no sane man would turn down a merciful way out.

Really, anything is better than to go through it again.

The waves were white strokes of foam, framing the coast. There was no glistening of light on the water surface, the ocean appeared as a pool of darkness.

Gently, he pushed himself away from the rocks behind him, and for a moment he was weightless, no pull of gravity in any direction threatening his existence. It would not last for long.

"No! Stop! Don't do this Marcellus!"

He turned towards the voice. The Doctor stood next to him. Their paths were only separated by a five feet long gap in between them. The Timelord could not reach him, but he was edging closer, his feet almost tiptoeing on the most narrow parts.

"Leave me alone." Marcellus was not asking, he was begging the Timelord. "No more of this. Please. I want peace!"

"I found a way to cure you." The Doctor said, licking his lips nervously. "You don't have to do this. If you jump there will be no ways left to bring you back."

Marcellus shook his head. "You betrayed me, Doctor! Why did you do this to me? I thought that you were my friend."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. It was the only way to save you both." The Doctor moved closer to Marcellus and held out his hand to him. "Please, take my hand Marcellus. Trust me. Trust me one last time. Don't jump."

Marcellus gazed at the Doctor, but did not move. He swallowed hard and turned away to face back to the open sea.

"Marcellus!" The Doctor yelled. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry for everything that I've put you through! But please, don't do this!"

Marcellus stared down at the dark abyss beneath, an almost content smile spread across his face as his heart finally found peace in the idea to become one with it.

"Guess what Doctor. The Master had it all wrong. No one knows me better than myself."

He pushed himself off the rocks and tumbled forward, head first, as if he was diving down into the water. He heard the Doctor's cry ringing in his ears.

"Marcellus!"

His arms spread out from his side. His heart picked up pace, throbbing wildly in his ribcage like a captured bird. So this is how it ends. He thought. This is how it feels to die. He was falling rapidly, plummeting into darkness. The wind swept away the cries of the gulls. It felt like it would never end.

Something suddenly stopped him and he felt the pull of gravity reconfirmed, yanking down his body with increased weight. He was suspended in the air, his feet dangling high above the ocean. His left arm and shoulder hurt immensely, as if it was being pulled out of its socket.

"Doctor! I wouldn't mind a little help here!"

He looked up at what was keeping him from falling. His heart froze when he saw the Master standing at the ledge, holding on to his right hand with a steady white knuckled grip.

"Doctor!" The Master yelled with a reddened face. "I'm slipping! Get your bony ass over here or we are both pretty much fucked!"

They dragged him up at the top of the cliff where he collapsed on the mushy green ground, his legs shaking. He watched fearfully how the two Timelords lay down beside him, exhausted by their efforts.

"It's a good thing you know the way around here, or Marcellus had been done for." The Doctor uttered between two deep gasps for air. The Master didn't answer him, but eyed at Marcellus like a cat would a mouse. He suddenly jumped up and grabbed him by the neck.

"What do you think you were doing, you little shit!?" He spat, shaking him so hard that his head bobbed up and down like that of a rag-doll. "How dare you! You could have killed yourself and I would have been stuck here inside that rotting corpse of yours as a brain-dead vegetable you fucking dimwit!"

"Hey! Let go of him!" The Doctor rushed over and managed with much effort to pry the Master's fingers from Marcellus's neck before he turned blue. "I said let go! Can't you see he's terrified?"

"Well he should be bloody terrified, especially when he finds out what I'm planning to do to him!" The Master rambled.

"You're not going to harm him in any way and you know it." The Doctor said strictly, placing himself between the Master and his shivering alter-ago.

The Master opened his mouth, ready to make another empty threat, then reconsidered, rolled his eyes and kicked some dirt and rubble into the air.

"That was very VERY inconsiderate of you!" The Master eventually said, is voice dripping with sarcasm and waiving an accusing finger at Marcellus. Hell, he had to say something. He turned to the Doctor. "Happy now?"

The Doctor ignored the Master and turned around to take care of Marcellus.

"Are you all right?" He asked.

"Please don't hurt me." Marcellus said in a weak voice, flinching away from his gentle touch. "No more of this. I can't stand it."

"It's okay. I found a way to cure you. You'll be safe from now on. No more madness."

"Stop it! I don't believe you." Marcellus shook his head. "How can I after what you've done to me? Why didn't you let me die?"

The Doctor swallowed hard. "I can't let you die. I can't. Marcellus, I know that it's difficult for you to see it now, but the world is truly a better place than you imagine it to be. And I want to show that to you. I want you to be happy."

Marcellus gazed up at the Doctor, than glanced over his shoulder to the Master who was sitting a couple of feet away from them, pulling grass out of the ground with roots and all, while he eyed maliciously at him.

"I don't know if I want to be saved if I end up like him." He muttered. He stared into the Doctor's eyes. "Why did you bring him here? Is there is something that you need to tell me?"

"Marcellus." The Doctor looked away, trying to find the right things to say. "I can't choose between you and the Master. You are both different, but the same person at the same time. If I let the Master resurface, you will stop to exist. If I let him stay here inside your mind, he will eventually destroy you. The only way for me to save you both, is to find a way for the two of you to co-exist."

The Doctor searched his pockets and took out his sonic screwdriver. He held it in front of Marcellus's eyes.

"You both have to give up a part of yourself to gain a part from the other. It's the sacrifice you have to make to chose life."

Marcellus stared at the tiny blue light shimmering in the tip of the device. He didn't know what he should think of this, being only minutes earlier that he had decided to give up on everything and to jump towards his death. But the Doctor knew what he was doing, he showed Marcellus a glimpse of all the things that had seen, things that had amazed and astounded him, the beauty of the universe, the mystery of life, the love and the courage that reside in the human heart. He wanted to convince him. He needed Marcellus as much as he needed the Master. He needed Marcellus to keep the Master sane.

When the information transfer was over, Marcellus seemed to light up, and a glint of hope could be detected in his eyes. The Doctor stood up and held his hand out to him.

"Please Marcellus, trust me one last time."

36.

Jack didn't know what to expect when he tried the door of the Tardis, but he certainly did not expect to see him, standing there leaning against the door-post, wearing a casual grin on his face.

"Captain Jack! Long time since we've seen each other. You are looking for the Doctor?"

The grin widened while he stepped aside and gestured that he should come further. "Oh do get in, I'll make you a nice cuppa while you wait. He went to the shops. We were low on supplies. Must only take a minute."

"He left you by yourself? Alone, with the Tardis?" Jack asked, appalled, and staring at him with suspicion. He didn't know to whom he was speaking to, this man wearing an oily smile that spread from ear to ear reminded him too much of the Master, but if he was the Master, how could the Doctor have trusted him with his precious timemachine?

"I know what you're thinking." He said, while Jack entered the pilot room, it occurred to him that the former timeagent kept his hand on his revolver. "But I'm not him."

"Are you Marcellus then?" Jack asked. Mentioning the name alone gutted him with guilt. He suddenly realized that he was in such a helpless situation. Although he was armed, he could not hurt him for he feared he might kill an innocent man. If he was the Master but was fooling him by acting as if he was Marcellus, he was in serious danger. When he dropped the question, he didn't expect to get a sincere answer, but he did.

"Yes and no." He frowned as though he was getting confused himself, and rubbed his chin. "It's complicated."

"Last time that I've seen the Doctor, he asked me to return the fobwatch. Didn't he let you open it?"

"Never seen it." He said with a disinterest in voice. "Must be lying around somewhere if you say so. You know what, I go have a look for it in the drawers later on."

Jack could have kicked himself in the head for his stupidity. Oh sure, inform the deranged psychopath about the little trinket that would restore him into a Timelord proper, brilliant really. "It doesn't matter!" He shook his head to remind himself to stop messing things up. "Just tell me, who the hell are you? Are you the Master?"

The man with Harold Saxon's appearance cocked his head to one side and put his hand against his cheek. "What does it matter?" He answered, his voice suddenly defiant as if he had enough of the niceties. "Are you going to be less of a self-indulged righteous prick if I was?"

That did it. Jack's nerves finally broke. He was convinced that something was wrong, and raised his gun at him. "What did you do to the Doctor! Tell me! Where is he?"

"I told you he went to the shops! He loves to go grocery shopping, God knows why. He's like a gerbil keen on storing food for the winter, you should see the stock of chicken noodle soups that we have. It's bloody frightening."

"You're not fooling me with that act." Jack sneered, keeping his gun at the level of his adversary's head. "I know that you're the Master, who else could you be."

"I said I wasn't the Master." He gazed up at him, more annoyed than that he was intimidated by his weapon. "Really captain, you tried to kill me once when you left me to rot in that Roman whorehouse, I thought you might remember me from all the bad dreams that immoral act would conjure in your otherwise spotless conscience."

"Stop fooling around." Jack snapped. "I know Marcellus, you're not him."

"And I trust that you should know. You created him. In a way, I must thank you for it, like a son should thank his father for his creation, only most parents don't go sell their offspring into slavery and prostitution." He turned and walked away from him without even considering that he was still under threat of being to be shot.

"Hey, stop! Don't move!"

He raised his hands up in the air, and without turning around he vanished into the kitchen.

"Just putting the kettle on. You might have bad manners, but I'm not a bad host."

Jack lowered his gun in amazement. He didn't know what to think of this. Somewhere deep down, he knew. He knew by looking into the other man's eyes that he wasn't the Master. But he wasn't Marcellus either. There were certain parts in his mannerism that reminded him of the renegade Timelord. The way he smiled that oily smile that never reached his eyes. The hint of sarcasm in his voice, and that hateful glint in his eyes whenever he addressed him. But on the other hand, he could no longer detect his madness, and he didn't seem cruel or violent. The captain flinched and almost dropped his gun when he returned with a tray, balancing two steaming mugs of tea with a packet of wafer biscuits on top.

"Are you going to point that thing at me all day?"

Jack put his gun away, although he was still hesitant, it even occurred to him that it started to look ridiculous. When he was offered tea, he took it from his host's hand most warily.

"It's not poisoned." He reassured, and dipped a wafer biscuit into his own mug. "If that's what you're thinking." He sat down next to the console and put his feet up. "Don't you get tired standing there? Sit down. I said it would take a minute but I'm pretty crap at predicting time when it comes to guessing how long it takes for him to buy-out the food section at Marks and Spencer. I could take ages."

Jack sat down in the chair opposite to the man, remaining silent while he watched how the Master finished half of the package of biscuits. He seemed uncomfortable about being stuck with him in the same room, and kept shoving food in his mouth to make it seem like he was too busy chewing to have a conversation. After a long silence that became more embarrassing and more painful by the minute, the Master finished his tea, sighed and looked disapprovingly at Jack who hadn't touched a drop.

"Look, I said it wasn't poisoned. At least pretend like you can trust me and take a sip. You're making me nervous."

Jack kept his eyes on him, but finally brought the mug of the now lukewarm liquid to his lips. He took the tiniest sip, and placed it on the console board beside him.

The Master sighed for a second time within a minute, and rolled his eyes.

"So." He muttered. "What brought you here to seek the Doctor? Is there another monster of the week loose?" His folded his fingers and let his hands rest on his stomach. "You want his expert opinion on the matter?"

Jack pretended he didn't hear the sarcasm in voice.

"Actually, Martha sent me. She called me a week ago and told me to check on the Doctor and you."

"Martha sent you?" His face suddenly brightened, and the cynical tune in his voice disappeared. "How is she?"

"She was worried. The Doctor sent her away without telling her what he was planning to do. She didn't know if he had actually changed you back or not."

"She is such a sweet girl." He smiled, and this time, it did reach his eyes. "I met her, she must have told you about it. I was in a very bad state. She felt sorry for me and really tried to help."

"Did he change you back?" Jack asked, and leaned forward in his chair.

"There's not one bad bone in her body." He muttered, ignoring Jack's question. "A girl worthy to be a Timelord's companion. And still he let her go. Such a waste."

"I said, did he change you back?" He asked again, raising his voice.

The Master stared at him, the malicious glint returned to his eyes.

"No. He didn't. But he did something else."

He leaned towards the captain. Their eyes were now fixed on each-other, unblinking, as if they were engaged in some strange kind of staring contest.

"Are you sure you want to know, captain?"

Jack grinned. "Why, is it such a great secret?"

He grinned back at him, coldly. "The Doctor, he saved me, or us. He saved the Master and Marcellus. He saved us by letting us die, just a little." He observed how the confusion appeared on Jack's face. "Are you still following me captain?"

"What you're saying doesn't make any sense." Jack snorted.

"Oh it does. Perhaps I should explain it to you in more simple terms. The Doctor made us into one. He joined our minds. I am no longer Marcellus, nor the Master. In fact, even I don't know who I am, not really." He laughed cynically, and swallowed hard. "There are traces of them both, lingering inside me, making me into who I am. I consist out of fragments of both men's character. I feel the Master's anger, and I feel his fear. I have his nightmares, and I hear…" He closed his eyes, and threw his head back. "I can hear the drums. They are not so close as they used to be. They are somewhere far away now, but they are still here. They didn't stop when the Master seized to be the Master." He opened his eyes again, and bit on his lower lip. "I told the Doctor that it had vanished because he was so worried. But I lied." He smiled somewhat remorsefully at Jack, the sincerity in his expression alarmed him. "And then there are parts of Marcellus in here." He put his hand flat on his heart. "He was such a good man. You captain." He nodded at him. "You made him such a good man. He's the part of me that keeps the Master's anger in check. The yin in the yan so to speak, if you believe in such bollocks. Morality, and loyalty, and kindness. Only…" He paused to look up and away from Jack, putting a finger on his lips in contemplation. "Only that's not the only part of Marcellus that's left behind. There is something else. Something darker…" He stood up and stalked around the Tardis. "Something that wasn't there when you took him to see Simon and sold him into slavery. You didn't put it into the man when you created him, but it had grown out of a tiny seed that rooted in his mind during his unfortunate stay in Rome, nurtured by everything he was forced to go through. It had fed on his fears like a malignant tumor."

Jack was alarmed and he hand slipped slowly toward the tilt of his service revolver. He tried to keep his gaze fixed on the Master, but his eyesight suddenly started to blur. He blinked, but the world swirled in front of him.

"I guess it was born out of necessity really. Without it, Marcellus would not have endured for so long."

Jack was feeling sick, everything was swaying, as if his head was stuck on a merry-go-round. He tried to get up but his legs were like made of rubber. He pushed himself up, leaning heavily on the console. He needed to stand up and pull his revolver. He was in danger, the Master had put something in his tea and he was poisoned. He couldn't die, but there were things that could happen to him that were worse than dying. He knew for he had experienced it before, when the Master was still the Master and he was his at his mercy.

"You said, you said you weren't him." He managed to utter, his tongue felt thick, and he sounded as if he was drunk. "You weren't, and you said there was no poison."

He laughed while a bitter grin adorned his face. "Not poison captain! Drugs! Rummaging through the Doctor's medicine cabinet, I found the stuff he treated me with when I was still a mind-wreck. This one seemed very suitable for the occasion. One of my very favorites, little Lucy in the Sky of Diamonds. Purified by the Sisterhood and a 1000 times stronger than normal. Get you rocketed to the stars, straight away." He only had to push him with one finger on his chest, and Jack tumbled helplessly to the floor.

"A hunger for vengeance, captain." He said, smirking down at him. "It's what kept the poor lad's heart ticking. Through all the horrible things that he had endured, till the Doctor finally saved him from his sad-sad life. It didn't go away when Marcellus seized to be Marcellus. It's still here." He pointed at his hart and his head. "And now, it's only fair that the he gets what he wants, don't you think so, captain?"

"What – what are you going to do?" Jack slurred, his vision already split double. His voice came from a far-away place, and sounded as threatening to him as a violent oncoming storm.

He crouched down, his face looming over him with eyes that seemed relentless and cold. "What to do to a man that cannot die?" He grinned, pulling a knife from under the tray. Jack stared at it with widened eyes. "Now, you didn't really expect me to go into the kitchen for only tea and biscuits, were you?" He pointed the knife at the captain. Down and down it went, till it lingered just above his belt. "After all, I still have half of the Master in me."

He thrust the knife into Jack's belly and twisted the blade. Warm blood flooded over his hand, and drenched the sleeve of his white shirt. Jack gasped, and jerked up, his eyes bulging.

Oh my God. He thought. I'm helpless. He can do anything to me now. The bioconverter! The bioconverter onboard of the Tardis is still functional and the Doctor trusts him. The team, they don't know where I went. He can leave with the Tardis and kill me a thousand times before they find us. It will be like how it was on the Valliant all over again.

Only this time, he would be his only prisoner.

His heart rattled in panic when the Master leaned forward and whispered into his ear, as if to share a secret.

"What can Marcellus do to a man who has wronged him, but cannot die, captain? Tell me? What should he do?"

His mouth moved but he could not speak, and soon the world faded into black for Jack.

37.

He woke up, his shirt still wet and cold with his own blood. He was lying in the bushes, somewhere outdoors in a small patch of woodland. Twigs snapped under his body as he tried to get up, leaning on his elbows. Somewhere from his right side, the churning sound of the Tardis came to him like an alarm bell, spurring his senses back into focus.

The Master! The Master killed him and now he's running off with the Doctor's Tardis!

He stumbled back up as fast as he could on rubber legs. He must stop him! Who knows what kind of disaster that maniac would create once he was able to travel back and forth in time freely to carry out his evil plans. He must warn the Doctor. He must stop him till the Doctor arrived!

He ran two steps into the direction of the sound before an electric current went down his legs and paralyzed his muscles. He cursed and fell to the forest ground, his head made a dent in a pile of rotting leaves. He managed to move his hand down his pants and into his pocket between the violent zaps. He removed a small silver ball, throwing it against the trunk of nearby tree before it could numb his fingers. It zapped two more times before it finally stopped.

The sound of the Tardis had died down, and Jack realized that he had missed it. He had let the Master get away. Frustrated, he screamed and tossed a fistful of leaves in the air.

The small metal ball came suddenly back to life, sending out two sparks before it flashed up brightly, blinding Jack with an eerie green light. He squinted his eyes and forced himself to gaze at the human figure appearing in front of him. It was a hologram of the Master, recorded previously inside the Tardis.

"Captain, don't mind getting up. There is no need for your heroism, I didn't steal the Tardis. If you are watching this message, the Doctor probably has just come back and we're busy trying to force the groceries into the fridge. I left with the Doctor, and this time, I'm not lying." He smiled broadly, and tapped his nose with his finger. "Anyway, to come back to what Marcellus would do to the ex time agent who has wronged him deeply. A dear friend of mine once told me that no one can remain consumed by hate and not eventually go mad. He taught Marcellus to forgive, not because it's what a pathetic petty minded hypocrite like you deserve, but because it is needed. And I believe that we all need a second chance." Rumbling in his pocket, he brought out the fobwatch and showed it to the captain. "Don't worry about the Doctor. I owe him this second chance in life. I would never hurt him. And as for this." He dropped the clockwork, and let it dangle from the short silver chain. "I don't think I need this. Not yet." He dropped it into his other hand and let it disappear again. "So captain Jack, guess it is goodbye for now!" His smile turned pleasant, but was still faked. "Hope to see you not too soon. The Doctor promised me one hell of a trip, something about a planet where it is Christmas the whole year around. Can you imagine it." He rolled his eyes and grinned, milling his fingers around his head. "It's crazy! He's crazy! Actually, I think I might be sanest one on board. Oh and by way." He grin widened, and even though he was staring at a hologram image, Jack could clearly detect the vicious glint that reappeared in his eyes. "Next time we meet, you might not keep your shirt clean either." He shrugged indifferently, as the transmission came to an end his image started to fade. "I might have forgiven you, but I'm not bloody mother Theresa…"

The hologram vanished into thin air, leaving the captain behind with a mixed feeling of great relief and anxiety.

Fin.


End file.
